


The Mighty Earth-Eidolon

by aveari



Series: Eidolons [2]
Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eidolons Part 2 - the Eidoloning, Multi, Poly triad, Some angst, Well there's always some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveari/pseuds/aveari
Summary: After death, daemons faded away, but those spirits who lingered perhaps had the worst fate. They were cursed to remember them, to yearn for them, but never to reach them again. Will had enough memories of family forever out of his reach. He pulled Issalinde up into his arms.Part Two of Eidolons, my canon-compliant daemon AU. Title is from Eidolons by Walt Whitman, chapter titles are from a poem of the same name by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.





	1. The Night's Innumerable Children

 

Issalinde could see ghosts.

 

It wasn’t so very unusual. Will could, too, though it wasn’t a _common_ skill among the Nephilim. Apparently, it ran in the Herondale line.

 

At the moment, William Herondale just wished the ghosts would be _quiet_. Issalinde pranced along at his heels, staring with her blue eyes at any spirit that came too close in the mists of the graveyard at night. On occasion, she’d let out a sharp hiss or snarl, though Will did his best not to show any discomfort.

 

This graveyard, tucked away somewhere near London Bridge, wasn’t a peaceful resting place. It was where suicides, stillbirths, people with no families, or the homeless poor were buried. Ghosts shouted, wailed, tried to pull at his arm in the cases of the younger ones. He walked on, silent, until the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he caught sight of the figure of a hunched old woman.

 

“‘Hello, Mol,” he said. The shade lifted its head, showing empty eyes with blue flames. “You’re looking particularly fine this evening.”

 

Mol was not impressed. “William ‘Erondale,” she croaked. “Back again?”

 

“You know I missed your pretty face.”

 

She grinned, and for a moment, her skin flickered to show the skull beneath. Her hand was outstretched - always was, as if to rest on a daemon she no longer had. After death, daemons faded away, but those spirits who lingered perhaps had the worst fate. They were cursed to remember them, to yearn for them, but never to reach them again. Will had enough memories of family forever out of his reach. He pulled Issalinde up into his arms.

 

“What d’you want, then?” Mol spat a tendril of blue fire to the side. Will had to wonder if that skill was limited to ghosts - it was highly atmospheric. “Malphas venom? I ‘ave the talon of a Morax. Very rare.”

 

“No,” said Will. “I need Foraii demon powders, ground fine.”

 

“Now, what’s an upstanding young man such as yourself wanting with stuff like that?”

 

Will just sighed. Magnus had already sent him to Old Mol several times, once for tarlike candles that stuck to his skin, and once for the bones of an unborn child. Demon powders were pleasant by comparison. “I’ll give you a good price.” He held up a bag, inside which metal rattled. “They all fit your description.”

 

The ghost seized it, making Will flinch at the iciness of her skin. From within, she pulled a fistful of wedding rings. Like many ghosts, she was always seeking a talisman, the one thing that kept her tied to the world. Privately, Will expected that the ring she wanted was somewhere at the bottom of the Thames, but in the meantime, she’d accept any ring that might possibly be what she sought.

 

Without another word, the ghost pulled a packet from somewhere, and the bag vanished to some equally unknown locale. Mol shimmered, then faded out of sight.

 

Will turned, ignoring the other spirits clamoring for his attention, and walked back out into the streets of London, packet in hand.

 

* * *

 

“Is _this_ really where the Council meets?” Tessa looked up at Westminster Abbey, its many spires silhouetted against hazy sunlight. “It just seems so…”

 

“Mundane?” offered Jem, standing beside her.

 

“I was going to say _crowded_.”

 

That made him laugh. Tessa relished the sound of it, of the sort of good-natured happiness Jem seemed to exude as easily as breathing. Over the past few weeks, she’d spent most of her time with Jem, and slowly but surely, she was easing out of the despair she’d fallen into after her brother’s betrayal, her feigned death, and Will’s… well. The event with Will.

 

It was mostly thanks to Jem, and she was glad to think she could bring him any joy in return, even a little. Chali, who had been curiously fluttering around, returned to her side and sang a cheerful few notes to Kasimela.

 

“I know we’re late,” said Jem. “But I wanted to show you something.” They slipped along the back of a group of upper-class tourists, and Tessa followed him into the eastern side of the building, where the floor tiles were engraved with names. “Poet’s Corner.”

 

Tessa stared in delight. “Oh, Coleridge! And Spenser, and _Shakespeare_ -”

 

“He isn’t really buried here,” said Jem, quickly. “It’s just a monument.”

 

“Still!” Tessa beamed at him, and he blushed. Jem was so pale that he could never hide even the slightest blush, she thought, with great affection. She wanted to reach out and kiss the redness on his face, but… Jem was Will’s. Perhaps. Tessa wasn’t entirely sure who was whose in their odd little dance for three - perhaps she was thinking of it wrong, and no one was anyone’s - but she knew full well that Will certainly wasn’t hers, and wherever that left her and Jem…

 

As if her conflicted thoughts had summoned him up, a shadow slipped from between two nearby columns.

 

 _“Mortality, behold and fear/What a change in flesh is here:/Think how many royal bones/sleep within these heaps of stones,"_ said the shadow. Jem just smiled at it, and Will stepped languidly out into the light.

 

“Decided to join us after all?” He asked, but there was no sharpness to his voice. “Or were you just waiting there to ominously quote poetry at passersby?”

 

“The latter.” Will looked tired and drawn, as though he hadn’t been sleeping enough of late. Issalinde, as well, had been brighter-eyed in the past - now, they both looked a little too rough, a little too careworn. “You’re late for the Council meeting.”

 

“So are you. Shall we?” Jem took Tessa’s arm with a smile, and the three of them wandered through a little square garden, then into a doorway that no one else seemed to see. It led to a rather eerie tunnel, sloping downwards, which in turn ended in another set of doors.

 

These were emblazoned with a pattern of four C’s, making Tessa pause.

 

“Clave, Council, Covenant, Consul,” said Jem.

 

“The Consul’s the leader, isn’t he? Like a sort of king?”

 

“Not quite so inbred,” said Will, who was leaning against the stone wall as he usually did. Tessa wondered uncharitably if he thought the walls would fall over if he wasn’t leaning on them at all times. “The Consul’s elected, like the prime minister.”

 

“And the Council?”

 

“You’ll see them soon enough. Most Nephilim in other countries won’t bother convening here, but there will be representatives. They want to talk about Mortmain.”

 

Of course they did. Tessa held out a hand to Chali as Jem opened the door, murmuring to him, “don’t change.”

 

Chali just gave her an offended look. Whether it was irritation that she thought he would, or irritation that she expected him to in the first place, she wasn’t sure.

 

Then the three of them stepped through and into the room, and she was too busy staring to worry much about it. The room was enormous. It was set up like an amphitheater, with rows of benches descending down to a platform, upon which several uncomfortable, straight-backed chairs were arranged. In the chairs sat Charlotte and Henry. At a sort of lectern, beyond those, stood a man in black robes like a judge. He was broad-shouldered and bearded, with a calm expression and blond hair that was close-cropped to his head. His wolf daemon, at his side, stood silent.

 

“Mr. Herondale,” said the man. “How kind of you to join us. And Mr. Carstairs, as well, and this must be…”

 

“Tessa Gray,” Tessa said, before he could finish. There was a muttering around the room at her interruption. She saw a few familiar faces - Benedict Lightwood, and his son Gabriel, with his bird of prey daemon glaring straight ahead. A few members of the London Enclave. Will had been right, though, that there were representatives from all over. An Indian woman with runes etched into her earrings. A dark-skinned man with a pleasant face. Another dark-haired woman whose features reminded her of Jem’s - and indeed, she _was_ looking at Jem, face shocked and full of sadness.

 

Jem didn’t look back at her, though Tessa could tell he had noticed the woman’s stare. It took Tessa a moment, but she finally realized that the mysterious woman was likely from the Shanghai Enclave. She had known Jem, _before._ Had seen him as a child, before the color was bleached out of his hair and eyes by the demon drug.

 

Tessa suddenly wanted to go up to her, ask her what she remembered. But it seemed horribly rude, and anyway, the Consul was talking again. “I am Consul Wayland. I understand you have already answered questions for the London Enclave, but I hope you are willing to answer a few more.”

 

Tessa met Charlotte’s eyes across the room. When she saw no disagreement, she nodded, and walked down towards the lectern at the Consul’s gesture. Will and Jem fell into step beside her.

 

And then it was time to repeat all that she had said before. No, she didn’t know why Mortmain wanted to find her. No, she didn’t know where her brother Nate was, and she hadn’t suspected him of treachery. No, she didn’t know what she was, and hadn’t known of any powers she had until she had been brought to London. No, no, no.

 

After an exhausting quarter-hour, Tessa was permitted to sit in the lowest row. Jessamine was already there, looking for all the world as if she was watching a somewhat dull play. Will scowled at her as they took their seats.

 

“I have decided,” said Consul Wayland, “that Charlotte and Henry Branwell will be censured. For the next three months, all official acts they propose will have to go through me for approval before -”

 

“My lord Consul,” said someone, interrupting him mid-speech again. This time, it was Benedict Lightwood. “If I might speak?”

 

“Mr. Lightwood. You had your chance to speak during the testimonials.”

 

“I had no issue with the testimonials,” said Benedict. “Only with the sentence.”

 

The Consul leaned forward, cutting a slightly imposing figure over the lectern. “Yes?”

 

“You’ve let your friendship with the Fairchild family blind you to Charlotte’s shortcomings,” he said. “And Henry’s as well, but we all know his involvement is minimal at best. She has let a dangerous criminal escape, endangered our relationships with the city’s Downworlders, was fooled by a spy in her own home, and seems to have no progress on fixing any of it.”

 

Charlotte looked dismayed. Henry’s face was red, and Will looked furiously towards them both. The Consul’s eyes darkened. “Your hostility towards the head of your Enclave does you no credit, Benedict.”

 

“Apologies, Consul, but it is my belief that she should not be permitted to run the Institute.”

 

Will made as if to jump up and shout at Benedict, but Jem caught his wrist immediately, hissing something under his breath. Jessamine, meanwhile, looked delighted. Jascuro fluttered his wings cheerfully.

 

“This is finally exciting!” She whispered to Tessa, who looked at her with disgust.

 

“Are you hearing any of this? He’s talking about Charlotte!” Jessamine just waved her off, as the Consul began to speak again.

 

“And who would you suggest run it in her stead, then? Yourself, I presume?” His tone was icy. The moment he’d finished speaking, however, three figures had risen to their feet. Members of the Enclave, Lilian Highsmith and two men Tessa didn’t know by name.

 

“Three witnesses to support my claim,” said Benedict, his snake daemon wrapped around his neck like a hanged man’s noose. Charlotte flinched.

 

“No,” said the Consul.

 

“You cannot prevent me -”

 

“You’ve challenged my appointment of Charlotte from the moment I made it. Now, when unity is more important than ever, you try again.” Benedict opened his mouth, but this time Consul Wayland didn’t allow himself to be spoken over. “You suggest that the responsibility of finding Mortmain should be left upon the shoulders of those you claim lost him? And in that case, you agree that finding Mortmain is our highest priority, not who is running the Institute?”

 

Benedict nodded.

 

“Then,” said the Consul, “Let Charlotte and Henry Branwell have charge of the investigation into his whereabouts alone. If, after two weeks, he has not been found, and there is no strong evidence leading to him, your challenge will stand and you can attempt to track him down.”

 

“Alone?” asked Charlotte, her voice breaking. “With no assistance from the Clave?” Raimond’s head was low, his tail down.

 

Lilian Highsmith whirled her head around. “I don’t like this,” she said. “You’re turning the search for a madman into a game of power.”

 

“Do you wish to withdraw your support for Mr. Lightwood? The challenge would be null, and they would have no need to prove themselves.” The Consul’s eyes were flinty. After a moment, she went pale and shook her head.

 

“We have just lost some members of the Institute,” started Charlotte.

 

“Additional servants will be provided to you. They will be trained in combat, as yours should have been.”

 

“Thomas and Agatha were trained -” Charlotte began again, but Benedict shook his head.

 

“Yet there are others in your household who are not. I hear Miss Lovelace is woefully behind on her training, your maid is still untrained, and that Downworlder you seem to want to make a permanent addition to your household ought to know how to defend itself. My sons Gabriel, and Gideon, who returns from Spain tonight, can tutor them, since you will be so busy seeking Mortmain.”

 

Tessa glared at him. It was a bizarre thing, to be called _it_ , and not a pleasant one. Will started back up, and once again, Jem pulled him back, though his eyes as well were cold and furious. She was so preoccupied with anger that it took her a moment to realize what he’d said.

 

“I can’t. I’ll chop my foot off,” she muttered.

 

“Chop off Gabriel’s foot instead,” said Will, making no effort to speak quietly. Gabriel, however, was looking at his father with shock and betrayal, and didn’t reply.

 

“We can train our own,” said Charlotte, red in the face.

 

“Mr. Lightwood is offering you a generous gift. Accept it.”

 

There was a beat of silence. Finally, Charlotte nodded, and the Consul turned towards the rest of the Council. “Dismissed.”

 

A quiet babbling of voices filled the room as people began to file out. Slowly, Charlotte rose to her feet, Henry’s hand comfortingly on her back. Jessamine was already standing, twirling her new white parasol - Henry had replaced the broken one. As they left the room, Charlotte’s back straight and chin held high, there were whispers around them.

 

_How humiliating. Two weeks. They’ll never manage it. It’s the Consul. Always soft on the Fairchilds. Charlotte’s father’s friend. Lightwood._

 

Will looked as if he wanted to jump at the whisperers and administer justice via his fists, but he didn’t, perhaps thanks to Jem’s hand on his arm. Jessamine looked bored again. Tessa had no idea what expression was on her face, but she too held her head high as they left the room and turned a corner.

 

Then Charlotte stopped dead, whirled, and kicked the stone wall with a quiet shriek. Raimond growled furiously.

 

“Oh my,” said Jessamine, as if she’d just seen some mild misfortune.

 

“If I might make a suggestion,” said Will, still full of furious, contained energy. “A distance behind us, in the Council room, is Benedict Lightwood. If you want to kick _him_ instead, I suggest aiming higher and a bit to the left.”

 

“Charlotte.” The deep voice wasn’t any of theirs, but Consul Wayland’s. He had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, dark robe swishing. “You know what your father always said about losing your temper.”

 

“He did say that,” said Charlotte. “He also said that he should have had a son. If he had, would you have treated me as you just did?”

 

“And how did I treat you?” Raimond was snarling at the wolf daemon now, but the Consul didn’t react in any way.

 

“Like a child who needed scolding. You’ve set me an impossible task, just to put on some show for Benedict Lightwood.”

 

“Benedict Lightwood is a blackguard and a hypocrite,” said Consul Wayland. “But he’s powerful, and it’s better to appease him. As for what I ask of you...” he tilted his head. “I have set you the task of finding the Magister. A man who broke into your Institute, killed your servants, and is endangering us all with his devices. As head of the Enclave, finding him _is_ your task. If you think it impossible, perhaps you should ask yourself why you want to keep the Institute in the first place.”

  
  



	2. Those Forms We Fancy Shadows

 

The library was dim, despite the witchlight that Kasimela held in her mouth, sitting patiently on the table. Tessa had noticed that the presence of daemons always seemed to make witchlight flare brighter, but it had been hours since sunset, and she supposed there was only so much even Mela could do.

 

The six of them - Henry, Charlotte, Will, Jem, Tessa, and Jessamine - were huddled around the table, scouring books and newspapers and trading reports and family histories of the name Mortmain.

 

The words on the papers in front of her were beginning to blur, though. Tessa had been tasked with looking for any mention of Mortmain’s shipping company, but she found herself reading the same sentences over and over again.

 

Finally, Jessamine set her book down. “Charlotte, I think we’re wasting our time.”

 

“You don’t need to help,” said Charlotte, rather sharply.

 

“I want to help!” Jascuro huffed from Jessie’s shoulder. “Those mechanical things hurt me, too. I want Mortmain caught and punished.”

 

“No you don’t,” said Will, setting his file of papers aside as well. “You want Tessa’s brother caught and punished, for making you think he was in love with you when he wasn’t.”

 

Jessamine flushed. “I do not. I did not. I mean - ugh. Charlotte, Will’s vexing me.”

 

“And the sun has come up in the east,” said Jem quietly. Will shot him an unrepentant smirk as Sophie entered the room, saying something to Charlotte, who stood quickly.

 

“Brother Enoch is here, and I must speak with him,” she said. “Will, Jessamine, try not to kill each other while I’m gone. Henry, if you could -” She broke off. Henry was staring down at a diagram of the automatons and seemed utterly oblivious. With a sigh, Charlotte left the room.

 

The moment the door closed behind her, Jessamine shot Will a poisonous look. “If you think I shouldn’t help, why is _she_ here? She doesn’t even know what to look for. And you pay so little attention in lessons, I doubt you could tell a demon-binding spell from a souffle recipe.”

 

Will just leaned back in his chair as Issalinde arched her back in a stretch, yawning widely. “I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

 

Chali turned into a red-tailed hawk. Issalinde purred.

 

Jem just sighed, taking the witchlight. “Jessamine, Tessa has kindly offered to help, and we need all the eyes we can get right now. Will, why are you quoting Hamlet? Henry -” There was no response. “ _Henry.”_

 

Henry jolted his head up. “Yes, darling?” He blinked, then frowned. “Where’s Charlotte?”

 

“She went to talk to the Silent Brothers,” said Jem, who didn’t seem put out of temper to have been mistaken by Henry for his wife. “In the meantime, I agree with Jessamine.”

 

“And the sun comes up in the _west_ ,” said Will, and it was his turn to coax a bright, gentle smile from Jem.

 

“But why?” asked Tessa, frowning. “If we give up, it’s handing the Institute over.”

 

“I’m not suggesting we do nothing,” said Jem. “But we’re trying to figure out where he is, what he’s doing. Trying to predict the future instead of understanding the past.”

 

“We already know his past,” said Will, gesturing to the newspaper clippings strewn over the table. “Born in Devon, became a ship’s surgeon, became a wealthy trader, got himself mixed up in dark magic, wants to rule the world. Not an unusual career for a determined young man.”

 

He was stressed, Tessa thought, and very tired. There was an edge to his humor that she was surprised to be able to recognize. She hadn’t known she was paying enough attention to him to be able to differentiate.

 

“It doesn’t say why he hates Nephilim,” she said, deciding not to comment on it. It wasn’t her concern whether Will was sleeping enough or not. “And he does - I’ve seen it in his face. It’s personal, he really despises you.”

 

“Reparations,” said Jem, suddenly. Will looked at him in puzzlement.

 

“Are we just blurting out the first words we think of? In that case, mine’s ‘genuphobia’. It’s an unreasonable fear of knees.”

 

“Is there a word for a perfectly reasonable fear of annoying idiots?” asked Jessamine.

 

Jem ignored the both of them. “Reparations. When the Accords were passed into law, they made it so Downworlders could challenge unfair treatment by Nephilim, or demand repayment. We haven’t looked in those records.”

 

“You think he’ll just have filed a complaint?” Will rubbed his forehead with his hand. “‘Very upset Nephilim refused to all die when I wanted them to. Demand recompense. Please mail cheque to A. Mortmain.’”

 

“No,” said Tessa, rather impatiently. “But maybe he didn’t always hate you. Maybe he tried to go through the official channels and they failed him. We don’t know.”

 

Jem got to his feet, as Mela nosed the witchlight across the table to join him. “I’m going to see if I can catch Charlotte before the Brothers leave, ask them to look through Reparations.” Tessa stood to join him, but Will just shook his head.

 

“I’m going for a walk,” he said. “Mine beautiful eyes are weary.” Before anyone could argue or even comment, he was out the door, shrugging a coat over his shoulders. Jessamine huffed.  

 

“What am I meant to do while you’re gone, then?” She poked at the papers on the table as if they were an animal carcass, gingerly and with great disgust.

 

“You could wake up Henry,” said Jem. “He’s fallen asleep and I think he’s eating paper.”

 

Jessie sighed. “Why do I always get the silly tasks?”

 

“Because you don’t want the serious ones,” said Jem, with a hint of exasperation finally breaking through to his voice. Tessa turned and walked with him, ignoring Jessamine’s icy glare, until the door closed behind them.

 

* * *

 

“He’s expecting you,” said the subjugate. Arthur? Archer? Walker? Will couldn’t remember, and anyway, the man was never happy to see him. He stood outside Camille’s townhouse until, with an irritated glance, he was beckoned inside to see Magnus once more.

 

Will followed the smell of sulfur and general dark magic down the hall and into the drawing room. Magnus stood in the center of it, black hair in disarray, his little forearm-sized dragon daemon blinking at a circle drawn on the floor. The furniture had been pushed to the walls, and within the circle sat a multi-eyed, blue-skinned demon. Will’s heart leapt - and then sank.

 

Magnus looked up when he arrived, with a grin. “Just in time!”

 

Will just shook his head, and Magnus’ face fell a little. “Not this one,” he said, simply.

 

A heavy sigh. “Well, it’s not necessarily worthless. Will, this is Thammuz, a minor demon from the eighth plane. Thammuz, this is William, a minor Nephilim from… Wales, was it?”

 

 _“I will tear the skin from your face and suck the moisture from your eyes,”_ said the demon. _"Your ribs will crunch sweetly between my teeth."_ It was hunched over, blood-red talons scraping the floor. Three black eyes stared at Will with great dislike.

 

“Don’t be rude, Thammuz,” said Magnus. “Will has questions, and I charge you to answer them truthfully.” His cat’s eyes gleamed, and the demon flinched a bit. Will had often wondered what Magnus’ lineage was - typically, demons looked down on warlocks for being what they called ‘half-caste’, but every demon Magnus had summoned treated him with cautious, wary apprehension.

 

Well, whatever it was, it was good for Will.

 

“Have you ever met a demon who was in contact with any of the Herondale line?” Will asked, voice hoarse. Thammuz just blinked at him.

 

_“I don’t differentiate between humankind."_

 

“Do you know of any who have? Or who might know of a demon with blue skin, a barbed tail, a raspy sort of voice -”

 

The demon just laughed. _“Do you know how many of us there are in our realms? There are cities of millions upon millions, demons of every shape and size and color. Some change their appearance at will. I have never seen this one you seek.”_

 

“Oh, be quiet then, if you’re not going to be of any use,” said Magnus, and the demon vanished in a puff of smoke. “I’m sorry, William.”

 

“It’s not your fault.” Will flung himself down onto the sofa, which had been pushed aside but not covered. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes, so he closed them. “I haven’t given you much to go on, have I.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“I assume you’ve told me all you remember.” That wasn’t a question, either. “You opened a Pyxis and released a demon, who then cursed you. You want me to summon it and see if it can remove the curse. And that is all you will tell me.”

 

“It’s all I _can_ tell you,” said Will, not opening his eyes. Issalinde nudged at his hand in comfort. “It wouldn’t benefit me to hold anything back unnecessarily, not when I’m already asking you to find… not even a needle in a haystack. A needle in a stack of other needles.”

 

“Plunge your hand into a stack of needles, and you will cut yourself quite badly,” said Magnus.

 

“The alternative is worse.” Will sat up a bit and reached for his stele, carving an Energy rune onto his skin with a slight wince, but he’d already done that before the Council meeting. It couldn’t dredge much more up from his tired body. He grimaced. “I’ve had five years to live with it. The idea of living with it any longer frightens me more than the idea of death.”

 

Magnus snorted, and Casimir muttered something that sounded like “dramatic”. Will ignored this. “You are Nephilim. You’re not afraid of death.”

 

“Everyone’s afraid of death,” said Will. “We may be born of angels, but we don’t know any more about what comes after than you do.”

 

Magnus sat down on the other side of the divan. “Well, that means you don’t know that there’s only oblivion, then.”

 

“ _You_ don’t know there _isn’t_.” It was a preposterous thing to argue about, so Will tried to take a deep breath. “Jem believes that life is a wheel. When we die, the wheel turns, and we’re reborn as we deserve to be.” He closed his eyes again. “I will probably be reborn as a slug someone salts.”

 

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” said Magnus. “If you believe as he does, you must have done something right in some past life, to be reborn Nephilim.”

 

“Oh, yes,” said Will, deadpan. “I’ve been very lucky.” He made as if to stand, but hesitated. “I suppose you need more ingredients? I think Old Mol’s getting sick of the sight of me.”

 

“I have other connections,” said Magnus. “And I need to do more research first. If you could tell me the nature of the curse -”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Let me guess. You don’t know what would happen, but it would surely be bad.”

 

“Don’t start making me think asking you for help was a mistake.” Will huffed a little, pulling at the cloth of the divan. It frayed under his fingers in a satisfying manner.

 

“This has something to do with Tessa, doesn’t it?”

 

The string he was holding snapped. “Tessa?” he said, with an effort to keep his voice even.

 

“It’s been years,” said Magnus, “yet you’ve managed all this time, telling no one. What drove you to me in the middle of the night in a rainstorm? What changed? I can only think of one thing, and a pretty one, with big gray eyes.”

 

Will shot to his feet, exhaustion gone for the moment. “There are other things,” he said. “Jem is dying.”

 

Magnus only looked at him, his cat’s eyes reflecting some of the dim light in the room. “He has been dying for years. No curse laid on you could cause his condition, or heal it.”

 

Will’s hands were shaking, noticeably so. He clenched them into fists, but the fists shook as well. “You don’t understand.”

 

“I understand you are _parabatai_ ,” said Magnus. “I know his death will break your heart. But what I don’t know -”

 

“You know what you need to know,” snapped Will, before he could go on. “I can pay you more, if you stop asking questions.”

 

This startled a laugh out of Magnus. “Nothing will make me stop asking questions, Will Herondale. But I will do my best to respect your silence.”

 

“Then, you’ll still help me?”

 

Magnus put both hands behind his head, glancing upwards. “Yes, I will still help you, though I could help you better if you told me the truth.”

 

Will just shrugged. “When do you plan to try again?”

 

Casimir snorted from Magnus’ shoulder. “Probably in a few days,” said Magnus. “I will send you a message by Saturday if there are any… developments.”

 

 _Developments. Curse. Tell me the truth. Jem. Dying. Tessa._ “Thank you,” Will said, suddenly desperate to get out of the drawing room and back into the cool air of the streets. “I will look forward to hearing from you.”

 

“Yes, do,” said Magnus, and closed his eyes as a clear dismissal. Will took it.

 

* * *

 

Sophie was on her way to Jessamine’s room when she heard voices.

 

At the house she had worked at, before, she’d been taught to give room - to turn and look at the walls when her employers passed by, making herself part of the decor, something to ignore. Sometimes, she still found herself turning to do so.

 

It had been a relief to come to the Institute in many ways. Here, no one cared that she was past twenty, or demanded she stare at the walls, or snapped at her if she spoke without being spoken to. She had almost thought it worth the mutilation of her face, though she still avoided looking in mirrors, if she could. Thomas had been kind to her about that, and took up polishing any mirrors in the house himself.

 

Thomas. That was a cold reminder that this life was not the paradise it seemed. Sophie bit her lip, her throat tight, and considered staring at the wall anyway so whoever was in the hallway wouldn’t see her expression. Belden jumped from her pocket and up onto her shoulder as she decided, no, she was in no mood for conversation.

 

So she slipped around the corner and into an alcove from which she could watch the hall, resigned to wait until they had passed.

 

It turned out that it was Miss Tessa, and Mister Jem, talking quietly to each other. Jem carried what looked like folded gear.

 

“He can’t _really_ mind if we’re trained or not,” Tessa was saying. “He just wants his sons in the Institute to annoy Charlotte.”

 

“That’s true,” said Jem. “But why not take advantage of training when it’s offered?”

 

Tessa put her hand to the angel necklace at her throat. Sophie suspected she wasn’t even aware of it, but Tessa was often doing that, as if it was a comfort. Her Chalivan, as well, wasn’t his usual self - a fox, this time, trotting after Jem’s Kasimela as if preoccupied.

 

Jem paused at Jessamine’s door, then bent to put the clothes down in front of it.

 

“She’ll never wear them,” said Tessa.

 

“I never agreed to wrestle her into the clothes, only to deliver them,” was the reply, and that made Tessa laugh a bit.

 

“You sound like Will.” As quickly as the humor had come, it had gone, leaving her face slightly creased with worry. Jem touched her cheek, eyebrows knit.

 

“What is it?”

 

“He’s not sleeping,” she said, and Jem just nodded sadly. “Does he always - you know, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t worry about him.” Sophie agreed with _that_ statement. Mister Herondale wasn’t a good sort. “But…”

 

“Yes,” said Jem. Sophie had often wondered what someone as good as Jem saw in someone like Will. The Institute as a whole knew, without saying, what was between those two, but it wasn’t talked about. Parabatai were meant to love each other, after all.

 

But then. Perhaps Jem would fall in love with Tessa and forget Will. She hoped so, for his sake.

 

Tessa worried at the necklace again. “Can you… help him? You’ve helped me, so much… no. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ask so much of you.”

 

Jem just smiled with a touch of melancholy. “I do help him, as much as he will let himself be helped. And sometimes more than that. But this is how Will is. Perhaps he needs more than merely me.”

 

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Sophie got the feeling that there was an unsaid conversation occurring that she wasn’t privy to. Finally, Tessa shook her head, and Jem inclined his, as if agreeing not to press the subject. Tessa smiled at him and leaned in to kiss his cheek, making him blush.

 

Sophie had to fight back a smile. Tessa had changed the subject, saying something about how the Silent Brothers were always talking to Charlotte, and how did Charlotte manage not to react to them?

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jem. “I prefer to think that when they’re at home, the Silent Brothers are much like us. Playing practical jokes in the Silent City, eating toasted cheese…”

 

“I hope they play charades,” said Tessa. “It would be a good use of their natural talents.”

 

Jem burst out laughing, and then they were walking away again. Sophie didn’t think anyone besides Will had ever made Jem laugh like that. You had to _know_ someone to make them laugh like that, she thought. With a sigh, she made as if to leave her hiding place.

 

Then Jessamine’s door opened. She slipped out, dressed in a long traveling cloak that hid most of her body. She carried a gentleman’s hat in her hand. Glancing down at the gear, she made a face, and kicked it into her room before putting the hat on her head, dropping her chin into the cloak, and slinking off into the darkness.

  
  
  



	3. The Quick Wind

Tessa thought that her Aunt Harriet would have fainted if she had seen her now. She was wearing what seemed to be thick, black trousers, and a short tunic with long sleeves. A weapons belt crossed her chest, though - thankfully - it bore no weapons. Sophie, similarly dressed, stood next to her in the training room. Jessamine had claimed a headache and had refused to leave her bedroom.

 

The Lightwoods were nowhere to be seen. Tessa looked over at Jem, who had accompanied them and was patiently examining some throwing knives. Mela played cheerfully, running up the ladder to the climbing ropes until she drew almost _too_ far away, and then returned to Jem’s side for an absentminded pat. Chali joined her, after a moment.

 

“They’re not here,” said Tessa, after a long silence.

 

“They’re trying to make a point,” said Jem.

 

“What point? We already know they don’t want to train us-”

 

At that, the door opened. Gabriel strode in, daemon glaring from his shoulder, followed by three others.

 

One of them was clearly his brother, Gideon. He was stockier and slightly shorter than Gabriel, but he had the same green eyes, the same set of features, and the same sour expression. His daemon was a sandy-colored dog.

 

Behind the brothers followed two people in servant’s clothes. A red-haired girl whose bones seemed too big for her skinny frame, a raven on her arm, and a tall, broad man whose daemon seemed to be concealed under his shirt.

 

“Well,” said Gabriel. “We’re here, as we said we’d be. James, I assume you remember my brother. Miss Gray, Miss Collins, this is Gideon.”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” muttered Gideon, not making eye contact with anyone.

 

“Don’t worry, Will’s not here,” said Jem dryly to Gabriel, who was glancing around the room as if he expected to be ambushed. Gabriel scowled at him, but he’d already turned to Gideon. “When did you get back from Madrid?”

 

“Father called me back a short while ago. Family business.”

 

Before anyone could ask for elaboration - not, Tessa thought, that they would have - Gabriel was indicating the two servants. “Your replacements. Bridget Daly, the cook, and Cyril Tanner, the manservant. Charlotte wanted you to meet them, but if you’d like to escort them back to the drawing room, James -”

 

Jem inclined his head, but turned to address Cyril and Bridget, unlike Gabriel, who had spoken about them as if they were inanimate. “Do either of you need any extra training? While we’re here -”

 

“They’re both fully trained in combat,” interrupted Gabriel. “Would you like a demonstration?”

 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

 

But Gabriel was already tossing a sword to Cyril, who caught it handily. “Oh, come on, Carstairs. The girls might as well see that a mundane can fight _almost_ as well as Nephilim, with the right instruction.”

 

Tessa had to admit, there was something beautiful about it. They met in the center of the room, swords flashing, a blur of black and silver. Her eyes could barely follow them, but it was clearly not a fair match - Cyril, sweat on his face, was giving everything he had, while Gabriel was only marking time. She felt a surge of irritation. Cyril had no runes, wasn’t that the point?

 

Gabriel disarmed Cyril with a quick flick of his wrist. Cyril just grinned good-naturedly, raising his hands. “I yield -”

 

There was a blur of motion. Gabriel yelped and went down, sword tumbling from his hand. He hit the ground with Bridget on his chest, teeth bared - she had run up behind him and tripped him before he could react, holding a small dagger against his throat. The raven daemon cawed triumphantly.

 

Gabriel looked up at her for a long moment. Then he began to laugh.

 

Tessa liked him more in that moment than she ever had before, which was not saying much.

 

“Very impressive,” drawled a familiar voice from the door. It was Will, looking, as her aunt might have said, as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. His shirt was torn, his hair was mussed, and he looked as if he still hadn’t slept. Issalinde’s fur was tangled, her tail drooping. “But can she actually cook?”

 

He was still beautiful, for all the mess he looked, and Bridget stared at him starstruck. His expression twisted for a moment. Tessa wondered if it was visible to anyone besides herself and Jem, that moment of pain.

 

“I am a fine cook, sir,” said Bridget, in a lilting accent. “My previous employers had no complaints.”

 

“Lord, you’re Irish,” said Will. “Can you cook anything besides potatoes? Potato pie, potato custard, potatoes with potato sauce -”

 

Bridget looked baffled. Jem walked over, taking Will by the arm. “Let’s take them down to the drawing room,” he said, and Will gave him a crooked smile as they left the room, Bridget and Cyril following.

 

“Well then.” Gabriel’s bird of prey daemon - it was striking, white with black wings and amber eyes - picked up a dagger in its talons and brought it to him. “I think it’s time to start training.”

 

Gideon scowled and said something under his breath in Spanish. Tessa didn’t catch it, but she thought she recognized _estupida_. It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

Tessa spent the rest of the day learning how to hold a sword correctly. Apparently, there was a technique to it that she was unaware of, because each time she tried to engage Gabriel, he barely had to move and the blade was falling to the ground, her hand stinging.

 

Gabriel, however, was surprisingly patient. He corrected her stance, her grip, over and over, until eventually she managed it, and then he even dispensed a few words of praise. Tessa was too preoccupied to notice if Gideon was as adept at training Sophie, though she heard him mutter in Spanish every so often.

 

By dinner, she was more exhausted than she had any right to be. Her arms were sore, and so were her legs, from trying to keep her feet in the awkward position Gabriel insisted upon. But Bridget had made a roast without a potato to be seen, and the food did her good. She only realized that she’d been staring off into space, exhausted, when Jem spoke.

 

“Are you all right, Tessa? You look a million miles away.”

 

She mustered up a smile for him. “Just tired. I’m not used to the training.”

 

“There’s a salve the Silent Brothers make, for sore muscles. If you want, you can knock on my door before you go to sleep, and I’ll give you some.” Mela nuzzled at Chali affectionately, and Tessa blushed, then scolded herself. He was offering her _medicine_ , not some secret moonlit tryst. Seeing her blush, Jem flushed as well, and Will raised an eyebrow at them both, smirking. Only Henry, who was chasing mushy peas around his plate with a fork, seemed oblivious.

 

Before anyone could say anything, the door burst open, and Charlotte hurried in, clutching a rolled-up paper, her hair escaping from its bun. “I’ve found it!” She collapsed breathlessly into the seat next to Henry, and smiled at Jem. “You were right. The Reparations archives, I found it after only a few hours.”

 

“Let me see,” said Will, setting down his fork, but Charlotte swatted at his hand affectionately.

 

“We’ll all look at once. It was Jem’s idea, after all.”

 

Will rolled his eyes, but there was softness in them. Tessa hoped Charlotte could see it. Then she scolded herself for thinking of Will so fondly. Again.

 

The paper was unrolled, but while it was in English, it was handwritten and so full of abbreviations and footnotes that, to Tessa, it might as well have been Greek.

 

She turned to Jem, who was leaning in to read it. His pale hair brushed against her face. “What does it say?”

 

Will answered, though she hadn’t asked him. “It’s a request for recompense. On behalf of A. H. Mortmain, seeking reparations for the unjustifiable death of his parents, John Thaddeus Shade and Anne Evelyn Shade.”

 

“J. T. S,” said Tessa. “The letters on the watch.” Charlotte nodded. “What… does unjustifiable death mean, exactly?”

 

“It means he believes they were killed despite having broken no Laws,” said Charlotte.

 

“Well, what law does it say they broke?”

 

A rustling of the paper. “Unnatural dealings with demons - well, that could be anything. You have to bear in mind that this was before the Accords. Nephilim could, and did, kill Downworlders on just the suspicion that they’d done something wrong. That’s probably why there’s nothing more detailed in the papers here.”

 

Tessa shuddered a bit, but didn’t interrupt as Charlotte went on. “It was filed through the York Institute. Aloysius Starkweather. You were right, Tessa. It was - _is_ \- personal.”

 

“And it gives us a starting point,” said Henry. “The York Institute. Starkweather still runs it., doesn’t he? They’ll have all the old papers.” His monkey daemon, Aisling, chattered as though pleased.

 

“And Aloysius Starkweather is eighty-nine,” added Charlotte. “He would have been young when they were killed, he might remember something.” She sighed. “I’ll send him a message, but… oh, it’ll be awkward. He and my father had some sort of falling-out, ages ago, and he still won’t speak to any of the Fairchilds.”

 

Will twirled a lock of Issalinde’s fur between his fingers. “What’s that poem again? _Each spake words of high disdain, and insult to his heart’s best brother -”_

 

“Oh, do be quiet,” said Charlotte, but there was no real bite to her voice. “I have to write a letter to Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I don’t need you distracting me.” Will half-smiled at her in an unrepentant manner. She gathered her skirts and hurried away without reply, Raimond trotting after her, tail wagging.

 

“No appreciation for the arts,” said Will. Tessa realized she was staring at him, having recognized the poem - it was Coleridge. There was more to it, something about love and death and madness, but she didn’t remember.

 

“And Charlotte hasn’t eaten any dinner,” said Henry, getting up. Tessa jolted out of her thoughts of poetry and Will. “I’ll ask Bridget to make up some cold chicken. As for the rest of you -” He hesitated for a moment, almost as if he was going to give an order. Tell them to go back to the library, or not to disturb Charlotte’s work, perhaps. Then he just blinked in confusion, his momentary authority vanishing back to wherever it had come. “I don’t remember what I was going to say,” he announced, and followed Charlotte out of the room.

 

Tessa hid a smile. Her head was nodding a bit, and Will and Jem were falling into a fast-paced discussion of Accords and laws and reparations that she couldn’t follow, so she stretched, wincing at the pain in her sore muscles, and left the table. Chali was back to a sleepy ermine around her neck. She wandered for a while, meandering the now-familiar halls of the Institute, before finding herself - where else? - in the library again.

 

Church was curled up in front of the fire, glaring at her. Chali disentangled himself, moving to watch him warily as Tessa, almost on autopilot, went to a nearby shelf. She rummaged through the pages of one particular book, frowning, until she found what she was looking for.

 

_Alas! They had been friends in youth/But whispering tongues can poison truth/and constancy lives in realms above/and life is thorny;and youth is vain/and to be wroth with one we love/doth work like madness in the brain./Each spoke words of high disdain/And insult to his heart’s best brother/They parted, ne’er to meet again._

 

To be wroth with one we love. Tessa rolled her eyes a little.

 

“Checking my quotation for accuracy?”

 

Tessa dropped the book. Damn the Nephilim and their Soundless runes. She turned to see Will, who had picked the book back up and was holding it out to her. “I assure you, my recall is perfect.”

 

“Yes, good for you,” she said. They hadn’t talked about their argument on the roof, and in fact, they hadn’t talked to each other alone very much since then, either.

 

She noticed again, though, how worn he looked. How the shadows under his eyes were darker and darker. How Issalinde’s tail drooped, her eyes hazy. She saw the lines of now-familiar temporary runes on his neck and arms, either black and new or fading into pale, overlapping scars. Energy. Energy. Energy once more, and one _iratze_ for healing that she knew without a doubt that Jem had put there.

 

Will glanced down at his hand. He was still holding the book. “Are you going to take Coleridge back, or will I just stand here looking foolish?”

 

Silently, she took the little volume back and replaced it on the shelf. After a moment, she beckoned Chali back to her side - he’d been looking worriedly at Issalinde - and turned to go. “Well, I’ve found what I was looking for, and it grows late.”

 

“Tessa,” he said.

 

She sighed. “Yes?”

 

“I read _The Wide, Wide World._ Since you seem to like it so much.”

 

“And?”

 

“Drivelly and sentimental,” he said, automatically. Tessa sighed.

 

“Then there’s no accounting for taste. Goodnight.”

 

“Do you have any other American recommendations to give me?” he asked, before she could take more than a step away.

 

“Why would I, when you scorn my taste? You told me _The Hidden Hand_ was unrealistic, and _A Tale of Two Cities_ was silly.”

 

“I reread Tale of Two Cities, after we talked about it. It’s not silly at all. Not really. There’s too much despair in it.”

 

“Despair?” They had moved closer together, now. Issalinde hissed. “The sacrifice was noble.”

 

“It’s what was left to him,” said Will. At Issalinde’s warning, he drew away, moving to sit on the long library table. It reminded Tessa, suddenly, of a day almost a month gone, as Will had sat on the same table with Jem and told her she walked like a duck. She would have smiled, had the moment not been so serious.

 

Instead, she made her way to the door. Will didn’t stop her this time, or speak until she had almost left.

 

“ _Vathek,”_ he said.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“ _Vathek,_ by William Beckford. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He was staring into the fire, any color in his face and eyes muted in oranges and reds.

 

“Oh,” Tessa said, somewhat thrown. “Well. Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

 

He just nodded, looking down, exhaustion in every line of his body. Her heart softened a bit.

 

“Goodnight, Will,” she said, and he smiled, nodded at her. Then he reached out to pet Church, who was still napping in front of the fire.

 

A yowling noise sounded, and Will began to swear. Tessa left the library, unable to hide a little bit of laughter as she went.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will, your daemon is a cat. Surely you know better than to poke one that was sleeping in front of a fire.


	4. Still on Probation

 

Jem’s room was full of shadows.

 

It was still more familiar to Will than his own was - he only ever went into his room for fresh clothes and for solitude anymore - and he lurked in the doorway for a moment. His _parabatai_ was asleep, his breathing blessedly even. The muscle salve was still on the desk. Tessa hadn’t been in to take it.

 

He wondered if she would be, but it was well past midnight. Will was the only one awake at this hour.

 

With a sigh, he kicked off his boots and crawled into Jem’s bed. It was only a matter of time until he ended up there anyway - Issalinde had already curled up in a comfortable sphere next to Mela. He was sure he smelled like night and city air, still in his day clothes, but Jem had never complained.

 

Now, he only rolled over a little. One more dark shape on a dark background. “Will?”

 

“Go back to sleep.”

 

“Have you slept at all in the past week, William?” Jem’s hair was mussed, his voice thick with sleep. Will wanted to hold him, so he did, and Jem huffed out a laugh before leaning his forehead against Will’s.

 

“I couldn’t,” said Will. “That hellish cat you brought back savaged my hand. I was consumed with pain.”

 

Jem scoffed, but Mela licked at the scratches, making him startle and shiver pleasantly, exhaling. Issalinde purred a steady rhythm from somewhere nearby. “I thought you two would get along. You’re similar enough.”

 

“Betrayal, Carstairs.”

 

Jem’s eyes fluttered closed again, and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Will’s lips before his breathing slowed, starting to fall back asleep.

 

“Welcome back, Will,” he murmured. “Rest.”

 

Will’s heart ached. He thought of curses, of the many nights he’d spent in this bed. He thought of Tessa, who they both loved and who had once maybe, possibly, loved both of them, before he had ruined that.

 

He couldn’t even tell Jem why. He couldn’t tell Jem that he had risked Jem’s life out of his own selfishness, his own need to be loved.

 

All he could do was hope. Perhaps, when - _if_ \-  the curse was lifted. Perhaps then, though he knew logically that Jem’s illness had nothing to do with him and his curse, that too would end.

 

“Soon,” he whispered, once he was sure Jem was asleep and his own eyes were growing heavy. “I can’t lose you. I’ve already lost her.”

 

There was no reply, so Will relaxed in Jem’s arms and, finally, fell into sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawned upon a furious Charlotte. She slammed the return letter from Aloysius Starkweather down on her desk, glaring.

 

“He is the most stubborn, hypocritical, obnoxious, degenerate -” she broke off, clearly fighting for control of her temper, though Raimond was still growling an unbroken low note.

 

“Would you like a thesaurus?” asked Will. He was sprawled in an armchair in the drawing room. His eyes, Tessa noticed, were a little brighter, his face a little less pale. Issalinde’s tail switched back and forth.

 

“And is he really _degenerate_?” That was Jem, from the other armchair. “He’s almost ninety, surely he’s past any real deviancy.”

 

Jessamine glared at them both from under a cool cloth. She was continuing to have a headache, and was laying on the chaise longue, Jascuro petulantly fluttering at her side.

 

Charlotte, on the other hand, was becoming a bit splotchy with rage. Henry reached out and patted her shoulder in an awkward fashion as Aisling mimicked it with Raimond. “What can I do to help?”

 

“You can go up to Yorkshire and chop his head off,” said Charlotte, sounding mutinous. “He won’t so much as allow either of us on his property, he says.”

 

“Making the beheading difficult,” said Will.

 

Jessamine lifted a corner of her cloth with dainty fingers. “Why not just send someone else? You run the Institute, the Enclave is supposed to do what you say.”

 

“Too many of them are on Benedict’s side,” said Charlotte. She didn’t comment on how unusual it was that Jessie interjected any opinion on Nephilim business. “I don’t know which of them I could trust.”

 

“You can trust us,” said Will, sitting up a bit. His new energy lent a slight grin to his face. “Send me. And Jem.”

 

Charlotte bit her lip. “The Clave was hardly pleased with you when you ran off to Highgate to kill Mrs. Dark.”

 

“They should have been, we killed a dangerous demon.”

 

“And we saved Church,” said Jem.

 

“That doesn’t count in our favor. That thing bit me again this morning.”

 

“I’d say that does count in your favor,” said Tessa. “Or Jem’s, at least.” Will made a face at her, but it was good-natured. The sort of face he made at Jem when they bantered back and forth. Perhaps, she thought with sudden hope, they really could be civil to each other.  

 

Charlotte was shaking her head, which brought Tessa back to the matter at hand. “He’s not going to tell you anything, he’ll know I sent you.”

 

“Well,” said Tessa. “There’s a way to find out anyway. If something of his could be retrieved, I could Change into him.”

 

A stunned silence. It was funny, Tessa thought. Life had gone on so much that there were hours, days, when she didn’t think about her gift at all. It was a nice feeling.

 

Charlotte blinked. “Are you sure you want to do that?” Tessa nodded, without hesitation.

 

“Then you can come with us to Yorkshire,” said Jem. Will scowled, his good humor vanishing. Tessa’s heart sank - apparently they weren’t as civil with each other as she’d hoped.

 

“She doesn’t have to come along, we can just bring something back for her.”

 

“But she says it has to have strong associations for the wearer -” Jem glanced at her for confirmation, and she nodded again. “What if we took the wrong thing?”

 

“We could use a strand of hair.”

 

“Ah, yes. We take the train up to York, meet a ninety-year-old man, jump on him, and yank his hair out.”

 

“Boys,” said Charlotte, surprising Tessa. They hadn’t really been fighting - Mela and Issalinde, and Chali as well, were still companionably sitting next to each other. “It’s Tessa’s decision. It’s her power we’re asking to use.”

 

Tessa looked at Jem, seeing amusement still in his eyes. “We’d take the train, you said?”

 

“Out of King’s Cross. It’s a few hours’ journey.”

 

“Then I’ll go,” she said. “I’ve never been on a train.”

 

Will groaned, defeated, and threw his hands into the air. “That’s it? You’re coming because you’ve never been on a _train_ before?” When she nodded with a beatific smile, he rolled his eyes, apparently unable to concede his loss. “Trains are great dirty smoky things. You won’t like it.”

 

“I won’t know until I try it, now do I?” said Tessa.

 

“I’ve never swum naked in the Thames, but I know I wouldn’t like it.”

 

“But think how entertaining for sightseers,” she said, and saw the quick flash of Jem’s grin, felt the quick flash of happiness his smile always brought her. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. When do we leave?”

 

It turned out they would leave early the next morning. After all, they were still working on a steadily impending deadline. Charlotte began to scribble down a message telling Aloysius Starkweather to expect them, but hesitated for a moment.

 

“Is this a terrible idea?” She asked. “I feel… I feel I cannot be sure.”

 

Henry put a hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte dearest, I think the only alternative is doing nothing. And doing nothing never accomplishes anything. Besides, what could go wrong?”

 

“I really, truly wish you hadn’t asked that,” said Charlotte, and stamped her seal on the letter with a thud.

 

* * *

 

Tessa’s afternoon was taken up by another training session with the Lightwoods. She walked with Sophie up the stairs, or started to, before the sound of sweet singing echoed from the kitchen.

 

Sophie winced, making Tessa glance at her. “Are you all right?”

 

“It’s Bridget again,” said Sophie darkly. “All she ever does is sing about death.”

 

Tessa blinked, struck with the urge to laugh. She probably hadn’t heard right. “... I’m sorry?”

 

Sophie sighed. “She just keeps to herself in the kitchen, singing those awful Irish ballads. Here, listen.” They crept closer, stopping at the scullery door.

 

Bridget was washing dishes, soap suds in the air like snow. Her raven daemon was snapping at them with his beak, making her smile as she sang.

 

_“Oh, her father led her down the stair, her mother combed her yellow hair/her sister Ann led her to the cross, and her brother John set her on her horse./Now you are high and I am low? Give me a kiss before ye go./But with a knife sharp as a dart, her brother stabbed her through the heart.”_

 

Nate’s face flashed in front of Tessa’s eyes, making her grimace. Sophie didn’t seem to notice.

 

“It’s all she sings about,” she said. “Blood and betrayal and murder and pain. Even at _night_. She’s a beautiful voice, but…”

 

Her voice had drowned out the end of the song, but another one started without any hesitation.

 

_“Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward?/Why does your sword so drip with blood, and why so sad are ye?”_

 

Tessa had to concede the point. They left Bridget, singer of murderous ballads, behind them, only to find that more voices were emanating from behind the closed training room door. Tessa hardly saw the point in ceasing to eavesdrop now, and the Lightwood brothers, unlike Bridget, might actually have something useful to know. She leaned in, half-watching as Sophie did the same, to press her ear to the edge of the door.

 

Gideon was speaking. His voice was low, but audible, and serious. “There’s going to be a moment of reckoning, Gabriel. What matters is where we’ll stand when it comes.”

 

“We’ll stand with Father, of course. Where else?” Gabriel’s daemon made a harsh cawing noise, an unsettled sound. It echoed in a beat of silence.

 

“You don’t know everything about him. You don’t know what he’s done. And maybe the Consul knows more about him than you do, and more about Charlotte Branwell. She’s not the fool you think she is.”

 

“She let us come in here to train her precious girls -”

 

“The Consul forced her hand. And besides, we’re met at the door, escorted to this room, and escorted out. What damage is our presence here doing her?”

 

Tessa could almost hear Gabriel sulking. She fought the urge to smile. After another long moment, he spoke again. “If you despise Father so much, why did you come back?”

 

Gideon sounded exasperated. “I came back for _you_.”

 

At that moment, for no explicable reason, the door gave way and swung open. Tessa and Sophie, leaning against it, frantically straightened up. Chali gave a startled chirp and transformed into a hummingbird, wings whirring.

 

It was funny, Tessa thought. Nephilim never stared at Chali when he changed forms, or even seemed affected beyond mild interest or distaste. She knew that people in her old life would have had far more of a reaction. Perhaps it was that they had met other warlocks, or perhaps they were just better trained at hiding their thoughts.

 

She could only hope that she was hiding her thoughts as sufficiently. Gabriel’s expression didn’t give anything away, and he merely walked towards them.

 

“Miss Lovelace still absent?”

 

“She continues to have the headache,” said Tessa, without inflection. “We don’t know how long she’ll be indisposed.”

 

“Until these training sessions are over, I expect,” said Gideon, and Sophie surprised them all by laughing. Gideon gave her an appreciative look as Gabriel tossed two dulled swords towards the center of the room.

 

“Pick those up, and don’t drop them. We’re working on parrying and blocking.”   


* * *

 

Tessa lay awake for a long time that night. She’d been having nightmares again recently - ones about the Sisters, and torture. She supposed it was to be expected, but she _did_ think that continuing to have night terrors more than a month after the fact was a bit much.

 

There was violin music drifting from Jem’s room, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to see anyone at the moment. Instead, she arranged and rearranged Chali’s feathers as he sat patiently, before hearing a rustle at the door. Then a thud, as if something had been pushed in front of it.

 

Tessa opened the door to an empty hall, music still playing. At her feet was a small green book.

 

 _Vathek_ , by William Beckford. She fought the urge to smile, or sigh - she wasn't quite sure which.

 

Picking it up, she retreated back into her room, bringing it back to the witchlight by her bed. Why? Why this odd, small kindness from Will? She opened it to the title page, upon which was a note in his surprisingly neat writing.

 

_For Tessa Gray, on the occasion of being given a copy of Vathek to read:_

 

_Dear Vathek and his dark horde_

_Are bound for Hell, you won’t be bored!_

_Your faith in me will be restored,_

_Unless this poem you find untoward_

_And my poor gift you have ignored._

 

_Will_

  


Bathed in the witchlight, holding Will’s book, Tessa burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later than usual - my bad. I did add an entirely original scene though, so any feedback on that is welcomed!


	5. By the Roadside

The next morning was rainy and gray. Tessa didn’t even get a good look at King’s Cross Station through the sheets of water, only an impression of a tall, imposing building and a clock tower.

 

Inside the station, though, it was chaotic and loud, much like the docks in New York had been. People hurried back and forth. Newspaper boys shouted. Men strode up and down with advertising boards for things like hair tonic and soap.

 

It was an oddly comforting sight. They climbed into their compartment, with much bustling over their two traveling cases of clothes and weapons, and the door swung shut behind them just as the train started to move in a swirl of steam.

 

Will settled into the seat opposite Jem and Tessa, stretching his legs out along it and closing his eyes. Tessa, meanwhile, pressed her face to the window, staring out of it intently, though she couldn’t see much of London through the rain. She didn’t move until the blurry grays of the city shifted to blurry gray countryside, and then clearer green fields as the clouds cleared.

 

“Have you ever been to the country before?” Jem asked, watching her stunned expression.

 

“No, not really.” Tessa tore her eyes from the window. “I never left New York except to go to Coney Island, and that’s not countryside. I keep expecting to see mountains, and moors.”

 

Will looked at her with a neutral expression. “There’s nothing that impressive in Yorkshire. Hills and scrub, mostly. No proper mountains like there are in Wales.”

 

“Do you miss Wales?” She knew asking Will about anything in his past was a bad idea, and yet she couldn’t seem to help it. She watched Issalinde nervously, but Will just shrugged.

 

“What’s to miss? Singing and sheep. And the ridiculous language.” He said something incomprehensible that seemed to have a lot of “th” and “v” in it. _“Fe hoffwn i fod mor feddw, fyddai ddim yn cofio fy enw.”_

 

Tessa blinked at him. Chali, encouraged by Issalinde’s lack of hostility, was cautiously approaching her where she sat next to Mela on the empty seat. She flicked an ear towards him and purred, which was enough for him to settle in on her back. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means, ‘I wish to get so drunk I forget my own name.’ Very useful.”

 

“You don’t sound very patriotic,” said Tessa.

 

“Patriotic? I’ll tell you what’s patriotic. In honor of my birthplace, I have the dragon of Wales tattooed on my ass -”

 

“No, he doesn’t,” said Jem flatly. Though Tessa was used to Will’s nonsense by now, and hadn’t reacted to his claim, the implications of _that_ made her blush scarlet. She turned her face back to the window. “You’re in a charming temper, William.” There was no edge to his voice, but Tessa knew very well know that it meant something when they referred to each other by full name. “Remember that Starkweather might just send us away, and if this is the mood you’re in…”

 

“I will charm the dickens out of him,” said Will. “I will charm him with such skill that he will be left lying on the ground trying to remember _his_ own name.”

 

“The man’s eighty-nine, he may well have that problem already.”

 

Tessa turned back from the window, her face having cooled. “Why does he hate Charlotte, anyway? If it’s something her father did -”

 

“Sins of the fathers,” said Will. “But yes, I do understand that Charlotte’s trusting us, and I do intend to behave myself. I don’t want to see that snake Benedict Lightwood and his hideous sons in charge of the Institute any more than you two do.”

 

“They’re not _that_ hideous,” said Tessa, mostly just to be contrary.

 

Will’s tone was sepulchral. “I spoke of the innermost depths of their souls.”

 

Tessa snorted. “And what color do you suppose the innermost depths of _your_ soul are, Will Herondale?”

 

“Mauve,” said Will.

 

Tessa nearly laughed again. She looked to Jem for help, but he was only grinning at them both, and took no side. “We should discuss strategy,” he said. “Starkweather knows Charlotte sent us. How will we get into his good graces?”

 

Tessa blinked. “How did she explain me?”

 

“She didn’t,” said Will. “I think it’s down to us to make a plausible story. We can’t say you’re Nephilim, since you have no Marks, or a warlock, since you don’t have a warlock mark either.”

 

“He’ll think I’m a mundane. I could Change, but…” The thought still was uncomfortable. Jem and Will exchanged a glance that said that they knew that full well, and had no intention of asking her to. Tessa felt her mouth twist. They thought her weak. Surely, if it was the best choice, she could hold a Change for that long. It was only her own mind that was preventing her.

 

“We’ll say you’re my mad maiden aunt who insists on chaperoning us everywhere,” said Will, and Tessa realized that he was trying to draw her out of her dark thoughts with nonsensical plots. It didn’t work, but Chali preened some of Issalinde’s fur anyway.

 

“My aunt, or yours?” asked Jem.

 

“True, she doesn’t look like either of us. Perhaps she’s fallen madly in love with me and insists upon following me everywhere instead.”

 

“My talent is shape-shifting, Will, not acting,” she said, and Will gave her a lopsided grin.

 

“We could claim she’s an Ascendant,” said Jem, thoughtful. At Tessa’s confused look, he elaborated, “An Ascendant is a mundane who wants to marry a Nephilim, and if the Nephilim doesn’t want to leave, they can become one of us using the Mortal Cup. Not without a lot of struggle, but it’s happened. The Clave has to consider it for at least three months, so we could say that you’re going to learn about other Institutes.”

 

“Might work,” said Will. “Shall we draw lots to see who has the bad luck to be affianced to her?”

 

Tessa huffed. “As if I’d marry _you,_ Will.” Her face felt warm, though, and she prayed she didn’t  blush as easily as Jem did. “I already know you consider me beneath you.”

 

Will’s expression faltered, but then he shrugged. Jem glared at him, but when no explanation or apology was forthcoming, he slipped a ring off his finger and handed it to her.

 

Tessa took it, examining the silver band. She’d seen Will wear something similar - though his had a design of birds in flight, and this one was a castle crenellation. _Herondale and Carstairs,_ she realized. _They’re family rings._

 

She smiled at Jem - her face was definitely red now - and slipped it onto her left ring finger. Jem was looking at Will as if expecting Will to apologize to Tessa, but all that happened was uncomfortable silence. She cast around for something to break it.

 

“What was Gideon doing in Madrid?” She asked.

 

“Faffing about, most likely,” said Will shortly. At his tone, Jem did speak.

 

“Is everything all right?” His voice was low and even.

 

Will looked at both of them, steadily. Tessa met his eyes, not sure what she was looking for in them. Whatever it was, they were veiled and tired.

 

“Too much to drink last night,” Will said finally.

 

 _Why do you bother lying?_ She wanted to ask. _We both know that’s not the truth._ But she looked to Jem, first, and that kept the words from spilling out. He looked worried - very worried indeed. But all he said was, “Well. If only there was a rune of sobriety.”

 

“Yes,” said Will, and his expression softened. It was relief, Tessa knew, that they hadn’t pressed. Will, as ever, remained a mystery.

 

She looked down at her hand. Jem’s ring had seemed to magically fit itself there - probably something in the way Nephilim rings were made. She ran her thumb over the bottom edge of it, soothed by the cool metal much in the way she was soothed by her angel pendant.

 

“I hadn’t realized Nephilim wore wedding rings,” she said. “Charlotte doesn’t.”

 

Will seemed more grateful for the change in topic, this time. “We don’t,” he said. “It’s customary to exchange family rings when you get engaged, but the actual wedding ceremony involves runes. One over the arm, one over the heart. ‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave.’”

 

“Jealousy is cruel as the grave?” echoed Tessa, raising one eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound… especially romantic.”

 

“I thought women loved the idea of jealousy. Thought it was romantic, men fighting over you and the like.”

 

“No,” said Tessa, and suddenly a headache seemed to be pounding behind her eyes. She hadn’t stopped to consider how lucky she had been, she realized, though with the way Will pushed her away, she hadn’t _felt_ lucky. Still, she was. She could have torn Will and Jem apart without realizing it. Their stumbling towards wherever they were going was awkward and uncomfortable, but it was, as she’d previously thought of it, a dance for three. They’d get there eventually, in time. “No, I don’t think it’s romantic at all.”

 

There was something in her voice, she knew, because Kasimela stretched, and then jumped off the seat to sit at her feet and look up at her. She managed another slight smile. “Though your ability to quote the Bible is almost as good as my aunt Harriet’s.”

 

“Did you hear that?” demanded Will, though he didn’t seem unaffected by whatever moment had just passed. “She just compared us to her aunt Harriet.”

 

Jem half-smiled. “We have to be familiar with all the religious texts - the Bible, the Quran, the Vedas. Charlotte tutored us on them, when we were younger at least.”

 

Tessa nodded. “Which of you is older?”

 

“Jem,” said Will, and “I am,” said Jem at the same time. They both laughed. “By three months,” added Will.

 

They fell into another silence, as the countryside flashed by, but this one was comfortable again. Comfortable enough that, after a while, Tessa brought up another question.

 

“What’s _parabatai?_ Gabriel called you that, but the Codex doesn’t talk much about it. Just that you swear to guard each other, but all Nephilim are supposed to do that.”

 

Will and Jem exchanged a look, but it was Jem who spoke. “It’s more than that,” he said. “It’s from some old story about Jonathan and David. Their souls were knit together by Heaven. It’s swearing to fight beside someone for the rest of your lives.”

 

“And anyone can become _parabatai_? With anyone?”

 

“Yes,” said Jem, “though you only have a few years during which the ceremony is open to you. So most people don’t find anyone they trust enough or care enough for in the allotted time. You go where they go, you’re buried where they are. It’s permanent.”

 

Tessa blinked. “Are _parabatai_ always lovers?”

 

Will shook his head with a short laugh. “No. Definitely not, It’s against the Law, in fact. All the good things in life are.”

 

Jem looked slightly abashed, but not very. “No one knows why it’s forbidden, but _parabatai_ fall in love often enough. It’s just… not talked about, and not reported to the Clave. Perhaps they don’t want romance entangling things, perhaps if they fall out of love it would harm the bond?” He shrugged.

 

Tessa nodded, but a turn of phrase from earlier was nagging at her. “Their souls were knit together…” She looked over at the empty seat, where Mela and Issalinde and Chali were resting in a contented pile. “Is that…” She hadn’t told anyone that she’d seen Issalinde touching Jem, on the first night she’d met him. Least of all Will and Jem. But it didn’t seem a secret that it would hurt to tell, at least not to them. “Is that why Issalinde can touch Jem?”

 

A look of shock went over Will’s face. Jem blushed.

 

“Probably not,” said Will, finally. “It’s not like your own daemon. It’s… different, it’s not…” he seemed lost for words. “It’s not because we’re _parabatai_. I’m sure other people have done that.”

 

Tessa thought of her aunt, telling her that to touch someone else’s daemon was the height of rudeness, of impropriety. “I’m sure they have,” she said.

 

Jem, though he was still a little flushed, nodded. “No, a _parabatai’s_ daemon isn’t like your own.” Will gave him a telling glance, and when Jem inclined his head, he turned back to Tessa.

 

“Here, see?” said Will. Tessa stared openly as he extended a hand to Kasimela, running his fingers through her silver-red fur, ears to tail.

 

Jem inhaled, just a little more sharply than was normal. Then he sighed, as if breathing through some strong emotion or sensation. He looked across at Will, a slight smile on his face, but his silver eyes looked… stripped bare, almost. There was trust - so much trust - and love, and worry, and vulnerability.

 

It wasn’t for Tessa, that look. They were still sitting separately, not touching, but she felt as if she was watching them in bed together. She almost looked away, before she realized - they were doing this for _her._ To show her something important.

 

So she watched, and, possessed by some impulse she didn’t understand, reached for Jem’s hand. Jem squeezed her fingers, eyes snapping to hers for a moment. Will lifted his hand from Mela, though she chased him with her nose as though she didn’t want him to stop.

 

“Are you all right?” Tessa said, into the silence. Jem nodded.

 

“Quite all right,” he said.

 

Tessa realized, with a shock, that she was curious. She wanted to see that look on Jem’s face again. Although the thought of Will, Will who lashed out and was cruel to her at seemingly the drop of a hat, touching Chali was enough to dampen any such thoughts.

 

How did he trust Will so much? How was Will not horrible to him?

 

Will, meanwhile, brushed a bit of Jem’s hair out of his face, and then turned to Tessa. “Show’s over,” he said, though his face as well was a bit red. “Aren’t you going to pepper us with more questions about _parabatai_?”

 

“Thank you,” said Tessa, simply.

 

Will’s eyes widened. For once, he seemed lost for words.

 

Jem, still holding her hand, brushed his finger over the ring. She understood what he meant to say by it. She was, she realized, starting to understand them. That which she’d wanted so much.

 

Before she could do something embarrassing like cry, Tessa shook her head and smiled. “I have many, many more questions. What are the advantages? Why would people be _parabatai_? Can you _stop_ being _parabatai_?”

 

Will laughed. “I regret asking. _Parabatai_ can draw on each other’s strength in battle, can feel when the other is hurt. There are some runes that can only be used on _parabatai,_ because of the shared power, and runes Jem puts on me are always stronger than any that other people do. And yes, if one half of the pair becomes mundane, or a Downworlder, the bond will break. You can’t find another _parabatai,_ though. It’s for life.”

 

“It is like being married,” said Tessa. “Like Henry the Eighth, in the Catholic church. He had to make a whole new religion to break his vows.”

 

“‘Til death do us part,” said Will lightly, but after what had just happened, there didn’t seem to be as much levity as he’d intended.

 

Jem smiled at them both, but there was something sad in it. “Will won’t need to make a whole new religion to be rid of me,” he said. “He’ll be free soon enough.”

 

Will looked over, gaze sharp, but it was Tessa who spoke. “Don’t say that,” she said, throat tightening. “There could still be a cure, something - don’t give up hope like that.”

 

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Will looked at her with fury in his eyes, but Jem didn’t seem to react. “I haven’t given up hope,” he said, tone neutral. “I just hope for different things than you do, Tessa.”

 

In the silence that fell then, Tessa remembered her earlier thoughts. That she was lucky, that they were stumbling in their dance as they tried to fix the steps for three people, but that they would get there, in time.

 

It was a cold reminder that they might not _have_ enough time to figure it all out.

 

Eyes blurring, Tessa turned to look back out the window.

 

* * *

 

It was still another three hours to Yorkshire, despite how long they’d talked. The pained silence didn’t last forever, and there was some joking, some pointing out of landmarks, and everyone nodded off on someone’s shoulder (usually Jem’s) at least once.

 

By the time the train stopped, it was nearing twilight. They stepped onto the platform in a slightly less chaotic station, to be greeted by an ominous figure. It was a heavily cloaked man, wearing a dark oilskin hat, beneath which was a long white beard and bushy white eyebrows. A hunting dog daemon stood at his side.

 

The man laid a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Nephilim,” he said, in a heavy accent. “Is it you?”

 

“Dear God,” said Will, putting his hand over his heart. “It’s the Ancient Mariner who stoppeth one of three.”

 

(From that, Tessa inferred that either Will had completely forgotten his promise to behave charmingly, or this wasn’t Aloysius Starkweather.)

 

“I’m ‘ere at t’request of Master Starkweather. Art t’lads he wants or not? I’ve not got all night to stand about.”

 

“Important appointment with an albatross?” asked Will.

 

“What my mad friend means to say,” said Jem, “is that we’re from the London Institute. Charlotte Branwell sent us.” He smiled reassuringly at the man, who merely grunted, beckoning them towards a carriage with the 4 C’s of the Clave etched on the side.

 

Yorkshire, from a carriage window, reminded Tessa of London on a smaller scale. Similar shops, similar pedestrians, but… smaller, less polished. The Institute was a small church, tucked away off of the main streets - in the darkness, the lights in its windows flickered as she stepped out of the carriage.

 

She felt almost like a ghost. Will’s and Jem’s familiar voices murmured behind her, but all of this was so different from the life she’d left behind in New York that she thought she might as well have been one.

 

She shook her head as if to clear it. “Don’t change,” she reminded Chali again, who huffed.

 

“I know better,” he said.

 

“I know,” she said. “But still.”

 

Tessa was used to pretending, now, but never with her own face. Jem took her arm with an encouraging smile, and they walked up the Institute steps to lie to Starkweather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really love the talk they have on the train, both here and in canon. Not sure exactly why, but there it is.


	6. From Ancient Battlefields and Churchyard Knolls

 

Their host stood in the entrance hall, back straight. For all that he was nearly ninety, he didn’t look it. His hair and beard were gray, as were his eyes, but his expression was sharp and steady. Like his servant, his daemon as well was a hunting dog, though this one looked nearly feral.

 

“Young Herondale,” he said, casting a disparaging look at Will. “Half-mundane and half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, I hear.”

 

“Thank you,” said Will, with a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Starkweather ignored this. He turned to Jem, next, glaring out from beneath eyebrows almost as thick as his servant’s. “James Carstairs. Another half-bred Institute brat. I’ve half a mind to tell you all to go to blazes, young upstart of a girl foisting you all on me without so much as -”

 

His flashing eyes came to rest on Tessa. He stopped, as if she had slapped him, his eyes wide and fixed on her face.

 

Tessa looked back, a flash of panic going through her. What had he seen? Did he know she was a Downworlder? Why wouldn’t he stop _staring_?

 

Jem as well seemed thrown by the sudden stop, but Will was there in the gap, smiling his most reassuring smile. “This is Tessa Gray, sir,” he said. “An Ascendant, betrothed to Carstairs here.”

 

“A _mundane_ , you say?” Starkweather had gone pale.

 

“An Ascendant,” said Will, voice soothing.

 

“A mundane,” he repeated, sounding lost. “Well. Times have. Yes, I suppose then.” He turned to the servant. “Gottshall. Get Cedric to help you bring the guests’ luggage up to their rooms. And tell Cook to set three extra places for dinner tonight. I may have neglected to mention that we’d have company.”

 

The servant, Gottshall, stared at him. Tessa felt much the same - it was clear that he’d intended to send them away, but had changed his mind at the last second. She tried to hide the confusion that she knew was on her face as Starkweather cleared his throat.

 

“Well, you needn’t stand there. Follow me and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

 

* * *

 

Tessa’s room was dark, small, and highly ominous. The low fire burning in the grate did nothing to diffuse the shadows on the wood floor. All around the room were vases or ornaments decorated with a lightning-like symbol. Shivering, Tessa washed her hands and face with the cold water in the pitcher and left, eager to get down to dinner as fast as possible.

 

There was a portrait hung in the hall directly outside her room, and she paused. It showed a girl, quite young, with long fair hair. She looked sickly and pale, but her eyes were bright. Her daemon, a mouse, sat in her clasped hands.

 

“Adele Starkweather,” said Will’s voice from behind her, and she jumped, Chali twittering in surprise. “1842.” He was only reading the placard on the portrait, but she glared at him for startling her anyway. He glared back, a slight crease between his eyebrows.

 

“You look like she’s mortally offended you,” said Tessa. “She’s… Starkweather’s daughter?”

 

“Yes,” said Will. “Or, she was. She died. And she hasn’t offended me, it’s just that you’re not meant to decorate Institutes like they’re family homes. His family symbol’s all over this place. Starkweather’s owned it so long, no wonder he thinks he has the right to throw us out.”

 

He looked thoughtfully at the picture, then offered her his arm, and they went down to dinner together.

 

Jem was already waiting for them in the dining room, though it was otherwise empty. It remained as such until another ancient servant came in to ladle stew onto their plates, hand shaking so much with age that Tessa had to physically prevent herself from leaping up to help. She eventually left, and Starkweather was still nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes, Will looked dejectedly down at his plate. Tessa didn’t blame him - the soup was lumpy and brown with overcooked meat and vegetables, and any sides seemed equally unappetizing.

 

“What, exactly, is this?” He asked, spearing a truly unfortunately-shaped object on his fork and raising an eyebrow at it.

 

“A parsnip?” suggested Jem.

 

“A parsnip planted in Satan’s own garden,” said Will.

 

Tessa half-laughed. “Have either of you ever even seen a parsnip? I haven’t.”

 

“So it could very well be one,” replied Jem, as Will glanced around for any dogs to feed it to. Eventually, he dropped it back onto his plate, declaring that any animals who had once lived here had been poisoned by parsnips.

 

“We’ll have to watch ourselves,” he added.

 

“And I was so hungry, too,” said Tessa, with some sadness.

 

“There’s always the rolls,” said Will, “but mind, they’re hard as rocks. I suspect you could use them to kill beetles in the night.”

 

She started to laugh again at his phrasing, despite herself. “Why _beetles_? Are beetles our main concern?”

 

“Beetles in the _night_ ,” corrected Jem, mock-sternly, and then all three of them were laughing. Will set his fork down, beginning a poem.

 

“There once was a lass from New York, who found herself hungry in York. But the bread was like rocks, the parsnips shaped like -”

 

Tessa interrupted him before he could finish that sentence. “You can’t rhyme “York” with “New York, that’s cheating.”

 

“Especially,” said Jem, “when the correct choice is obviously ‘fork’ -”

 

“Good evening,” said Starkweather’s voice. He was in the doorway, and Tessa wondered with a flash of embarrassment how long he’d been standing there. “Mr. Carstairs, Mr. Herondale. Miss Gray.” He sat down, setting a box on the table, then taking a long drink of wine and grimacing. “That’s disgusting, that stuff. I found your Charlotte’s records.”

 

He opened the box. “What we have is an application for Reparations on behalf of two warlocks. Filed by their son. Not their blood son, mind. Adopted. Shouldn’t be allowed, that. Like giving a child to wolves to raise. Before the Accords -” His daemon growled.

 

“If there are any clues to his whereabouts,” said Jem, trying to steer the conversation back on track with a grimace.

 

“Very well, very well. There’s not much about your precious Mortmain in here. Just the parents. Apparently the male warlock was in possession of the Book of the White. Spellbook. Went missing in 1752.” He was making his way steadily through the wine he had proclaimed disgusting. “All about binding and unbinding energies and souls. And Necromancy - very much against the Law, that. We didn’t have the Accords in those days. An Enclave group swept in and slaughtered them.”

 

“And the child?” asked Will. His face as well was still, hiding distaste. “Mortmain?”

 

“Not a sign of him. And then years later he comes back, asking for reparations, cheeky as you please. Even his address -”

 

“His _address_?” said Will. “In London?”

 

“No. Up here, in Yorkshire. Ravenscar Manor, up a few miles north from here. Been abandoned for decades, now. Not sure how he afforded it, it wasn’t where the Shades lived.”

 

“Still,” said Jem. “It’s an excellent place to start. If it’s been abandoned, maybe he left something there -”

 

“We took their belongings for spoils,” interrupted Starkweather. He had finished his own wine and moved on to Jem’s.

 

“Spoils,” Tessa echoed, quiet. She’d read about them in the Codex - if a Nephilim killed a Downworlder, any of their belongings of value belonged to the killer. Those were the spoils of war. She looked across the table at Jem and Will - their eyes worried and apologetic in Jem’s case, and disgusted with Starkweather in Will’s. Was she really part of a race of creatures at _war_ with them?

 

“Spoils,” said Starkweather. “Does that interest you, girl?” There was an odd eagerness to please in his voice. “We’ve quite a collection.” He got to his feet. “Come along, and I’ll tell you the rest on the way. Not much more of it, though.”

 

He left, without checking to see if he was being followed. After only a moment’s hesitation, the three of them stood and trailed after him.

 

“As I was saying. Mortmain wanted reparations for the female’s death. Said she didn’t know what her husband was doing. Wanted a trial of those who killed her, and their belongings back. Didn’t get them, of course.” He chuckled, as though anything about this was funny.

 

“Were you there?” Tessa asked, quiet. They were moving quickly through downward-sloping halls.

 

His eyes glanced over her, and then away. “Aye. Didn’t take long to get the both of them. They weren’t prepared. I remember them lying there in their blood. Was surprised they bled red. I’d’a expected warlocks would bleed blue, or green, or some other color.” He shrugged. “Kept the cloaks off them, though. Like skins off a tiger. Glory, glory, those were the days.” He grinned, like a skull. Jem’s fists clenched at his sides, and now it was Will’s turn to put a hand on his arm, reminding him to be still.

 

Tessa thought of Bluebeard’s chamber, where he kept all his dead wives. She felt very warm and very cold at the same time.

 

“He never had a chance, did he,” she said. “He was never going to get his reparations.”

 

“Of course not,” barked Starkweather. “Rubbish, all of it. He was probably more of a pet to them than anything. Should’ve been thanking us, not demanding a trial -”

 

Tessa was saved from having to reply to that by their arrival at a door. Their host pulled a key from his coat, and it swung open. “Ever been to the Crystal Palace? This is better.”

 

He shouldered the door open to a well-lit room, lined with glass cabinets. Tessa saw Will’s back stiffen, and Jem reached out for her arm. “Don’t,” he began, but she had already started forward.

 

Spoils.

 

There was a bloodstained locket, open to the daguerrotype of a laughing child. A dish of bullets, still bloody. Sets of fangs, row after row of them. What looked like sheets of gossamer or fabric, pressed under glass, turned out on closer inspection to be the wings of lesser fairies. There were mummified taloned hands, like Mrs. Black’s. Vials of thick blood.

 

Starkweather was saying something about how much warlock parts, especially their “mark”, were worth on the black market. Tessa couldn’t hear him. He held up a head, mostly dried, human except for two fleshless, spiral horns.

 

“Got this off one I killed up Leeds way,” he was saying, words floating through to her. “You wouldn’t believe the fight it put up -”

 

His voice hollowed out. Tessa wasn’t sure if she was starting to faint or starting forward to claw at his face, scream, strike at him. Either way, Jem’s arms were suddenly around her, keeping her in place. Words floated by her in ragged scraps. “My fiancee - never seen spoils before - can’t stand blood -”

 

“Let me go,” she hissed.

 

Jem’s reply was sad, and his eyes reflected the horror she knew was in hers. “I can’t.”

 

She leaned her head into his collarbone, gritting her teeth. Fighting not to fight him, not to try to break free and get at Starkweather. It would ruin everything.

 

So she clutched at his shirt, breathing raggedly, as Will said something about getting her to her room, and then Starkweather’s maidservants were pulling her away, and she only saw Jem and Will, pale and sick-looking, watching as the door closed behind her.

 

* * *

 

Tessa dreamed.

  
At first, it was the usual nightmare, manacled to the bed in the Dark Sisters’ house. The Sisters, as usual, came in, Mrs. Black’s head still connected only by a tendril of bone. But then it changed.

 

_“Here she is, the pretty pretty little one,” said Mrs. Dark. “How much will we get for each part of her?”_

 

_“A hundred each for her little soft hands,” said Mrs. Black, blood bubbling out of her mouth. “And a thousand each for her eyes.”_

 

_Mortmain’s face loomed above her. “And they say the worth of a good woman is more than rubies,” he said. “What is the worth of a warlock?”_

 

_“Put her in a cage,” said Nate. “Let the groundlings stare at her for pennies.” And suddenly, that was where she was, his pretty face laughing at her from the other side of the bars. Henry was there, too, shaking his head._

 

_“I’ve taken her all apart,” he said. “But I just can’t see what makes that heart of hers beat.” He opened his hand, and there was something red and bloody in his palm. “Look, see how it is both divided and whole -”_

 

“Tess,” said a voice in her ear. “You’re dreaming, wake up.”

 

Hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. Her eyes opened slowly, and she became aware that the covers were tangled around her, her skin clammy with sweat, her head pounding.

 

“Dream,” she whispered, and then looked up. Will was sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed, still in his dinner clothes. He didn’t appear to have slept, though it was near dawn. Issalinde sat on his knee, staring.

 

“What did you dream?” he asked, calm and nonchalant, as if nothing unusual had happened.

 

“I - There were all the pieces of me,” she said, nonsensically, but Will’s face twisted.

 

“God damn that evil bastard for showing you what he did,” he muttered. “But it’s not like that anymore. The Accords forbid it.”

 

“Henry was taking apart my heart as if it were clockwork.”

 

“Well, that settles it,” said Will. “Definitely a dream. As if Henry is a danger to anyone besides himself.”

 

Tessa didn’t smile. Will made as if to reach out to her, but stopped.

 

“We wouldn’t let anyone harm a hair on your head,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

 

Tessa thought several things, very quickly. It was a... _chivalrous_ thing to say, she supposed. Will’s words were something out of a storybook, something he’d probably only known from reading poems and stories. She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection, and she didn’t find it especially romantic, but the effort behind the words warmed her heart anyway.

 

But _why_ was he being so kind? Why was he offering to protect her?

 

She met his eyes, still blue in the darkness, and she wanted to kiss him.

 

She didn’t.

 

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t know that, Will.” He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “How would I? You’ve made it clear that you think of me as - as a toy for your amusement.” The old hurt at his words bubbled up again. “Can you tell me you didn’t mean what you said?”

 

She hoped he would, Tessa realized. After everything - the library, their train ride, _everything_ \- she hoped he would have reconsidered it. She wasn’t even certain he believed it, had believed it when he said it. But whatever Will’s reasons were, she would not put herself in a place where she would be hurt by his sharp-edged words again.

 

Will looked broken. He bowed his head, and wrapped his arms around Issalinde as if to comfort her. “No,” he said, after a long silence. “Forgive me, I can’t say that.”

 

Tessa’s heart contracted painfully. “Then,” she said. “Get out of my room. You shouldn’t have come in.”

 

“You called out -”

 

“Not for you.”

 

Will didn’t seem to have any reply to that. Without another word, he got to his feet and left the room. The door clicked shut.

 

Tessa didn’t sleep after that.

 

* * *

 

The next day was beautiful and blue, which helped Tessa’s aching head. She was late to breakfast, since she didn’t want the help of any of the ancient maidservants, but late as she was, Starkweather was still nowhere to be seen.

 

Breakfast was weak tea, burned toast, jam, and no butter. Jem had already eaten, but Will seemed to have no appetite, and was instead cutting his toast into strips and making a caricature of a face with bushy eyebrows and crossed eyes. Jem was laughing at it, but turned to Tessa with worry in his eyes as she approached.

 

“How are you feeling? After last night -”

 

He didn’t even have time to get the words out before Starkweather appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Jem darted an elbow into Will’s side, making him jump and ruin the picture. If he noticed it, he didn’t comment.

 

“The carriage is waiting in the courtyard. I trust you’ll return it after your business at Ravenscar Manor is done, and you are on your way.”

 

Jem nodded. Tessa managed a few sips of tea before following Will and Jem down the church steps, into the mild sunshine. Gottshall was waiting in the driver’s seat of the carriage, hat pulled down over his eyes. Will seemed delighted.

 

 _“_ _By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, wherefore stopp'st thou me?”_ he said, by way of greeting. Gottshall, unamused, raised one bushy eyebrow. Jem pushed Will into the carriage with an apologetic look, and Tessa followed after, taking a seat next to Will this time.

 

Her shoulder brushed his, and he glared at her before moving away. She glared back, though Chali ruined the effect by becoming a little dog with his ears drooping. Tessa supposed she’d ruined whatever closeness they’d managed to grow back with her behavior last night - but it was hardly her fault, she reminded herself. He was the one who had said such unforgivable things in the first place.

 

“I said don’t change,” she said to Chali. The last thing she wanted was for horrible Starkweather’s servants, or the man himself, to suspect her.

 

“It’s safe,” said Chali quietly, as the carriage began to move.

 

And so they traveled out of Yorkshire, through the countryside, for a far shorter time than the train ride had been. No sooner had the chimneys of a manor house risen in the distance than Jem opened the window and called to Gottshall.

 

“But it’s still so far,” said Tessa.

 

Will rolled his eyes. “We can’t just ride up to the front door. He might have left guards, or there might be someone living there now.”

 

They disembarked, boots splashing in the mud, and set off on foot. Chali, Mela, and Issalinde ran ahead, chasing each other through the long grass in some long game of tag. It was very pretty, Tessa thought, all these green hills rising up around them. But it was a severe sort of beauty, and she shuddered at the thought of living here, so far away from everything.

 

Jem saw her expression and smiled. “City girl,” he said.

 

Tessa nodded. “I was thinking how odd it would be to grow up so far from any people.”

 

“Where I grew up was a lot like this,” said Will, to her startlement. He looked relaxed, if still a little closed off. “It’s not so lonely as you think. People visit each other, and sometimes stay for weeks or months.”

 

Tessa tried not to stare at him. Will, voluntarily revealing something about his past?

 

Jem spoke as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. “I agree with Tessa. I grew up in Shanghai - I don’t know how I could sleep at night, without knowing I was surrounded by others.”

 

Will made a snorting sound. “Surrounded by filth and people breathing down each other’s necks,” he said, but without venom. “When I arrived in London, it was all I could do not to seize the next unfortunate who crossed my path and commit violent acts upon their person.”

 

“Some might say you retain that problem,” said Tessa.

 

Will laughed. It was a short laugh, but a real one.

 

There wasn’t time for more conversation, as they were approaching Ravenscar Manor. It was surrounded by hills, as if cupped in the palm of a hand, and they looked down from the top of the hill, mostly concealed in the high grass.

 

The house itself certainly didn’t look abandoned. No weeds grew over the drive, and every window was whole and clean.

 

“ _Someone’s_ living here, at least,” said Jem. “Perhaps if -”

 

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sound of carriage wheels. Immediately, they ducked down further into the grass, peering down the hill.

 

The carriage that rolled up was a dull brown and looked like nothing out of the ordinary. The door opened, and a girl climbed gracefully out of it. She was probably fifteen or so - young enough to still wear her hair down. It was very dark, and hung around her face like a curtain. Her daemon was dark in color as well, about the same size as Issalinde, but it was too far away to tell for sure.

 

She was also too far away for Tessa to make out any features, unaided by runes as she was. But Will froze. He leaned forward, a terrible gasp torn from his throat. It was as if the air had been punched out of his lungs.

 

They both turned to him, panicked, but he didn’t look up.

 

“Cecily,” he whispered.

 

The girl was disappearing into the house. As soon as she was gone, Will staggered upright, his face a sickly gray. “Cecily,” he repeated, his voice somewhere between amazement and horror. Issalinde’s tail was fluffed out, and she nosed frantically at Will’s legs.

 

“What’s Cecily?” Tessa scrambled to her feet. Jem was already at Will’s side.

 

“Cecily,” said Issalinde, and gestured with her tail towards the carriage. Will coughed.

 

“My sister,” he said. “She was - Christ, she was eight years old when I left -” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he started off down the hill, trampling blindly. After a moment, Jem went after him, catching his arm.

 

“Will, don’t -”

 

He ignored him. “If she’s there, my parents are there as well -”

 

Tessa hurried to catch up with them. “Will, it doesn’t make sense. It could be a trap, this is supposed to be Mortmain’s -”

 

“I know,” he snapped, and sped up.

 

“Will!” Said Jem, running after him and catching at the back of his shirt. Will swung around, wrestling free, and then Jem was yanking him backwards, and Will was shoving forwards, and then they both went down on the muddy slope, rolling in a tangle of limbs until they stopped against a rock a third of the way down the hill, Jem pinning him. Kasimela, as well, had Issalinde trapped under her. Chali fluttered nearby, unsure who to help.

 

“Get off me,” said Will, nearly shouting. “You don’t understand, get off me! They’re my family!”

 

Jem put his hands on either side of Will’s face. “I do understand,” he said. “And you need to listen to me.”

 

_“James -”_

 

“Look,” said Jem. Tessa and Will looked. Above them, standing like a sentry on the ridge where they had just been, was an automaton. It didn’t have the pretense of being human, unlike the others - this had spindly legs and a twisted torso. It gleamed slightly in the light.

 

It wasn’t moving. There was no indication of how it had gotten there. Tessa’s skin prickled.

 

The fight went out of Will, and Jem sat back on his heels.

 

“That thing’s been following us,” said Jem. “I thought I saw something from the carriage, but I wasn’t sure. Now I am. If you go running down there, you’ll bring that thing down on them.”

 

“I see,” said Will. He was staring at the metal creature, eyes narrowed. “Let me up, Jem.”

 

Jem hesitated.

 

“I won’t go near the house. I swear on the Angel. Let me up.”

 

Another moment of stillness, and then Jem rolled to his feet. Will was off like a shot - not towards the house, as Tessa had feared, but directly towards the creature. Jem stared, openmouthed, for a moment.

 

“ _Will,”_ he said, and ran after him.

 

Tessa stared after them both. The automaton was nearly out of view.

 

“Well, fuck,” she said, and then picked up her skirts in one hand and gave chase.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in the original it was just "an unladylike word". But one of my first tags on Eidolons Only (later deleted) was Let Will Say Fuck. We can adjust that to "Let Tessa Also Say Fuck", I think.


	7. Disembodied Souls

 

Tessa had no Speed or Sure-Footed runes to help her. In fact, all she had was sheer determination. 

 

It wasn’t enough to catch up to Will and Jem. She reached the top of the hill in time to see Jem vanish into a copse of trees, and, heart pounding, she followed after, only to slow to a stop, feeling like Snow White fleeing into the woods. 

 

She glanced around, seeking some evidence of where they’d gone. Broken branches, disturbed leaves,  _ something.  _

 

Instead, she saw a flash of light on metal as the automaton emerged from between the trees. 

 

Chali screamed, and became a warhorse, lashing out with his hooves, as Tessa fumbled on the ground for a stick, or a rock, or anything she could use as a weapon. Seizing up a fallen branch, she brandished it in the position Gabriel had taught her. 

 

The automaton sheared through it with its metal fingers as if it were paper. Tessa flinched, then jabbed the remaining half into its shoulder, where - to her own surprise - it seemed to catch in the gears, grinding. It didn’t prevent it from moving forward, however, and it stumbled towards her, reaching out - but then the angel pendant moved. 

 

On its own, as it had once before. It put itself between her and the razor-like digits, and something happened that she couldn’t see, and then its metal hand had fallen to the ground. 

 

And then Will, appearing behind it, had put a sword through its chest. Tessa looked up, breathless. 

 

“Thank you,” she said. Will didn’t seem to notice her. Jem was quick to follow him, stopping when he saw the creature slumped on the ground. It was still whirring, still clicking. Will kicked it. 

 

“What are you?” He asked, a barely-controlled franticness in his voice. “Why are you here?” 

 

The automaton whirred, then spoke in a grinding voice. “I… am… a… message… from the Magister.” 

 

“What message? For me? For the family in the manor? Answer me!” Will kicked it again, but Jem put a hand on its shoulder. 

 

“It can’t feel pain,” he said. “Let it deliver the message.” 

 

The automaton’s head lolled. “The past is in the past. Leave his buried, and he will leave yours. Do not continue with what you seek.” 

 

Will’s face was still ashen. “How did he bring my family here? Did he harm them?” 

 

“I… am… a… message…” 

 

With a furious cry, Will severed its metal head in a spray of oil. Tessa was reminded, suddenly, of Jessamine in the park, destroying a goblin with her razor-edged parasol. She had held Jessie while she cried, then. 

 

Tessa caught Will’s arm. Jem grabbed his other shoulder. After a moment, Will turned his face away. 

 

“Let’s go,” said Jem, and Will didn’t raise a voice to argue with him. 

 

* * *

 

They buried the automaton behind a fallen tree, somewhere it would be hard to find unless you were looking. By the time they finished, Tessa’s hands were cracked and caked in mud. Jem’s and Will’s were no better. 

 

If Gottshall was surprised to see them in such a state, clothes torn, covered in dirt, faces pale and set, he didn’t let on. He merely nodded as Tessa opened the door, and they helped Will in together. 

 

None of them wanted to sit alone, so without saying anything about it, they all slid into one side of the carriage, Jem and Tessa on either side of Will. Will hadn’t said a word since they’d left. 

 

Tessa was shivering. Jem was so warm, feverish from burning through the  _ yin fen  _ left in his body, that she could feel it even across the carriage. But even so, he pulled a lap rug from the floor and wrapped it around them all. Chali burrowed under it next to Mela, but Issalinde was sitting on the seat across from them, staring out the window. 

 

“Your sister,” said Tessa, after a few minutes. “She looks like you.” 

 

Will didn’t reply. There was another silence. 

 

“Will,” said Jem. His voice was direct. “I thought… I thought that your sister was dead.” 

 

Tessa blinked. She hadn’t known that. Will just turned his head to look at them both, one after the other. When he smiled, it was ghastly. 

 

“My sister  _ is  _ dead,” he said, and that was all he would say until the carriage pulled up to York. 

 

* * *

 

There was little conversation on the train ride home. They nearly missed it, Jem holding the door open for them as they ran and stumbled up the steps into the compartment. 

 

Still, none of them wanted to sit alone. They pulled the cushions from the seats and sat on the floor, together, all three leaning on each other. Tessa leaned her head back, dazed and sleepy, watching the sky go by from her odd angle. She was aware of Jem whispering to Will in Latin. 

 

_ Me specta, _ he was saying.  _ Me specta.  _

 

_ Look at me.  _

 

Will didn’t answer, or obey. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

 

They nodded off, in turns, and at some point around sunset Jem left the compartment, murmuring softly about fetching water. Tessa awoke to see Will staring, the same blank look in his eyes. 

 

“Will,” she said, softly. “Last night -” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Apologize? Thank him for being kind, even though he thought so little of her? It hardly mattered, she thought. He wouldn’t speak, or even look at her. 

 

Before she could say anything, he glared. “There was no last night,” he said. 

 

The soft sleepiness vanished, replaced with hope. “Oh, really? We just went right through from yesterday afternoon to this morning? How odd that no one remarked upon it.” 

 

“Tessa.” He was angry, but he was talking. His thoughts were taken up with her, and not that wretched emptiness. She found she wanted him to be angry. Wanted to distract him with fighting and nonsense. 

 

“Your sister’s alive,” she said, and he blanched. “Shouldn’t you be happy?”

 

_ “Tessa,”  _ he repeated, louder and angrier, and leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. As he did so, the door opened, and Jem returned with a damp cloth. He looked from Will to Tessa, the same worried look in his eyes. 

 

“He speaks,” was all Jem said about it, though. 

 

“Just to shout at me,” said Tessa, still trying to needle Will, but he had gone back to staring. Her heart sank. 

 

“It’s a start,” said Jem, quiet. He took his place on the floor again, Mela rolling over onto the cushion. “Here, give me your hands.” 

 

She did, and he began cleaning the dirt and blood from them. He had already done his own, she noticed - the open-eye rune on the back of his right hand was visible again, where it had previously been obscured with Yorkshire dirt. The cool cloth was soothing, as was his touch, and she sighed a little. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

He smiled at her, all sun coming out from behind clouds, and kissed the back of her newly-cleaned hand. She blushed. Her entire chest felt warm, as if she’d just drank some hot cider or tea. 

 

“I took a button from Starkweather’s coat,” she said, to distract from it. Jem, who was now trying to clean Will’s hands as well, gave an impressed nod. Will pulled his hands back, seemingly content to leave them muddy.  

 

“I didn’t even notice. That was clever -” he broke off with a cough. Tessa looked at him in alarm, and Will’s head snapped up. Jem waved them off. “Just dust in my throat,” he said. Will’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press. 

 

He didn’t have time to. They were arriving in London. And the moment the train began to slow, Will wrenched the compartment door open and leapt out, onto the tracks behind the platform. He pulled himself up, Issalinde’s claws scrabbling on the stones, and pushed through the station. 

 

If it hadn’t been for his runes, Tessa thought, he would have been injured, and badly. Jem stared out the window as if about to run after him again, but then hesitated. She knew what he was thinking - if he ran out after Will, Tessa wouldn’t be able to follow. 

 

There was a moment. She felt it go by, and wanted to tell him to go after Will, she would handle things. 

 

But he was already sitting back down, picking the cushions from the floor, pulling their luggage out of the rack. 

 

“Jem,” said Tessa, quietly. 

 

“He’ll be all right,” he said, with passable conviction.

 

She didn’t answer. The bleak look in Will’s eyes still haunted her. 

 

* * *

 

Magnus was not surprised when he heard Camille’s front door slam open. Will was getting to the status of “annoying relative”, someone you could recognize by sound alone. Someone who felt free to argue with the footman when you’d given express orders that you wanted to be left  _ alone,  _ thank you. 

 

Casimir emerged from under the parlor’s table, his scales still a melancholy blue. Magnus picked him up in one hand as the parlor door flew open, and Will Herondale stood on the threshold, looking simultaneously triumphant and wretched. 

 

“I knew you were here,” he said. “Tell this overgrown bat to stop hovering at my shoulder. Tell him you want to see me.” 

 

Archer, behind him, scowled. Magnus put his feet up on the low rosewood table in front of him. 

 

“Maybe I  _ don’t  _ want to see you,” he said reasonably. “Have you considered that? I did tell him to let no one in, not to let no one in but you.” 

 

“Please,” said Will. “I have to talk to you.” 

 

Damn the boy. All pain and desperation and misery, enough to pull at Magnus’ heart. He had wanted to spend the evening here, alone with the fire and some book or other - here in this room, where Camille’s personal touch seemed to linger the longest. But here was Will Herondale, a study in pleading wretchedness. He was really going to have to do something about his tendency to help the desperate. And about his weakness for blue eyes. 

 

“Very well,” he said, with a sigh. “You may stay and talk. But I’m not raising a demon, not before supper, and not unless you’ve turned up some hard proof.” 

 

Will shut the door in Archer’s face, and locked it for good measure. “I don’t want you to summon a demon,” he said. 

 

“Well, good -” 

 

“I want you to send me through to the demon realms.” 

 

Magnus choked on nothing. “You want me to  _ what?”  _

 

Will stared at the fire. “Create a portal to the demon realms and let me through. You can do that, can’t you?” 

 

“I can,” said Magnus. “But I won’t.” It was dark magic in the Clave’s eyes, and a risky endeavor besides. Will knew this. “I’m beginning to think you were sent here to test me.” 

 

Will snorted a laugh. It was a very bitter one. “By God?” 

 

“By the Clave, who might as well be.” 

 

Will swung around to face him. “This isn’t a test. I can’t go on like this, summoning up demon after demon, never having them be the right one. I’m going to lose my family, lose Tessa -” 

 

“So it is about Tessa,” said Magnus, unsurprised. Will groaned. 

 

“Not just her.” 

 

“But you love her.” 

 

Issalinde stared at him as if he were being very obtuse. “Yes, I love her,” said Will. “I thought I wouldn’t love anyone again, but I love her.” 

 

“Is this curse supposed to be something about taking away your ability to love? Because that’s nonsense if I ever heard it. I’ve seen you with your  _ parabatai.  _ You love him, don’t you?” 

 

Will winced. “Jem is my great sin,” he said. “Don’t talk to me about Jem.” 

 

“Don’t talk to you about Jem, don’t talk to you about Tessa. You want me to open a portal to the demon realms, but you won’t tell me why.” He sighed. “I won’t do it, you know.” 

 

Will put his hand on the mantel and turned to look back into the fire. “I saw my family today,” he said. “Well. Cecily, my little sister. I knew they were alive, but I didn’t think I’d see them again. Any of them. They can’t be near me.” 

 

Magnus looked at him, indirectly, the way you would look at a wild creature you didn’t want to scare away. He made his tone gentle. “Why?” he asked. “What did they do that was so terrible?” 

 

“What did  _ they _ do?” Will blinked. “Nothing. It’s me. I can’t be near them.” 

 

“Will -” 

 

“I lied to you,” he said, all of a sudden. 

 

“Shocking,” said Magnus, but Will was already lost in memories. He paced, scuffing his boots along Camille’s carpet, Issalinde at his heels, mewling. 

 

“You know what I’ve told you. It was a rainy day, I was bored. I was going through my father’s things. He kept some of them, some things from the Nephilim. An old stele, and a locked box, in a false drawer in his desk, as if that would be enough to keep us out. Of course the first thing I did when I saw the box was open it.” He was still pacing, but Issalinde jumped to his arms, in an attempt to soothe him. Magnus didn’t interrupt.

 

“The moment I saw it, I began to scream. I’d never seen anything like it, all jagged teeth and barbed tail hovering over me. Then my sister burst in.” 

 

“Cecily?”

 

“My older sister. Ella. She had no fear, she stood in front of me. She said, ‘I banish you.’ Told it to get out, but it just laughed.” 

 

It would. Magnus felt a stir of pity, and of respect, for this girl. Raised to know nothing of demons, but standing her ground. 

 

“It laughed, and it knocked her to the ground. Then it looked at me, and it said, ‘It’s your father I would destroy, but he is not here, and you will have to do.’ I was so shocked, I was crawling over the floor, staring. It said, ‘I curse you. All who love you will die - their love will be their destruction. It may take moments, it may take years, but any who look upon you with love will die of it, unless you remove yourself from them forever. And I will begin it with her.’”

 

Magnus, despite himself, was drawn in. “And did she fall dead?” 

 

“No.” Will kicked at the carpet. “She was unharmed. She comforted me, told me its words meant nothing, and carried me up to bed and read to me until I fell asleep. I was exhausted with the shock of it all. But by that point it seemed like an exciting memory. I was planning out how to tell Cecily about it without letting her know that I’d cowered behind Ella like a child the entire time.” 

 

“You  _ were _ a child,” said Magnus. 

 

“I was old enough,” said Will. “Old enough to know what it meant when I woke up to hear my mother screaming. Ella was dead in her bed. They tried to keep me out, but I saw enough - she was rotted, swollen inside.” He swallowed hard. “My father was weary and went to lay down. He said he felt ill, but I knew it was my curse at work. I knew I had to leave. So I did. I followed the roads to London, and I found my father’s people, and I begged Charlotte to take me in. She was young then. Not even twenty. But she did.” 

 

Will raked his hands through his hair. Magnus watched him, unsure of what to say. But he was still talking. “So I make them hate me. I am cruel to them. I hurt Tessa, badly, and now she will hate me. I can’t bear it, but I must. I can’t bring harm on her.” 

 

“And Jem?” Magnus said, though he already knew the answer. Many things were starting to fall into place. 

 

Will’s voice was choked. “Jem is dying,” he said. “Jem was dying when I met him. I told myself, perhaps through me he can be given a good death. A quicker one. Perhaps the curse wouldn’t work on him. And it seems it does not, and that itself is its own curse, because his death was no quicker and now I cannot bear to lose him, whether to a curse or to the  _ yin fen.”  _ He clenched his fists in Issalinde’s fur. “No one can live with nothing,” he said. “Jem is all I have.” 

 

“You should have told him,” said Magnus. “He would have chosen to be your  _ parabatai  _ anyway, even knowing the risks. It seems he has ignored many risks on your behalf already, if the way you speak of him is any indication. You are more than  _ parabatai.”  _

  
Will didn’t deny it. He seemed preoccupied with the first part of the statement. “I cannot burden him with that. It would hurt him more to know that the pain I cause others - Charlotte, Henry,  _ Tessa -  _ if he knew why I hurt Tessa - it would break his heart. And I can tell no one else, because if I did, I have ceased to push them away.” 

 

“So you have told no one,” said Magnus. “No one save me, since you were a child.” 

 

“I couldn’t. If I told them, they would pity me, and then they might view me with affection, and then love.” 

 

“And you do not worry about me?” 

 

Will blinked, somewhat thrown. “You? No, you hate Nephilim, don’t you?” 

 

Magnus did not dignify that with a reply. 

 

“But if I told the others - Charlotte, Henry, even Jessamine - they would know my behavior was false. They would come to care for me. I can’t let them do that.” He glared down into the fire, and Magnus was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “I can’t let them die.” 

 

Magnus sat. He watched. He did not interfere. Eventually, Will pulled himself back into a semblance of control. 

 

“So you won’t help me, then.” 

 

“If your definition of ‘help’ involves dropping you into the demon realms like a rat in a pit of terriers, then no, I will not,” he said. “Go home, William. Sleep it off.” 

 

“I’m not drunk.” He closed his eyes. “I feel myself  _ losing  _ myself. I don’t even remember how not to be cruel anymore. It’s second nature. You would be doing me a mercy, sending me to the demon realms. I might find what I’m looking for, and if I don’t, my life is worthless to me anyway.” 

 

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Magnus, and his voice was icy. “You are young, barely a man, and you are in love and you think that’s all there is in the world. But the world is bigger than you. You are Nephilim, you serve a greater cause, and your life is not yours to throw away.” 

 

“Then nothing is mine,” said Will, pushing himself away from the mantel. 

 

“No one said we were owed happiness.” Magnus thought of the house of his childhood, in Indonesia, and his mother flinching away from him with frightened eyes as her husband, who was not his father, burned. “What about what we owe to others?” 

 

“I’ve given them all I have already,” said Will, snatching his coat off the back of a chair. “They’ve had enough. And if this is all you have to say, so have you.” 

 

Regretting his harshness, Magnus started to rise to his feet, but Will pushed past him and shoved his way out of the door. 

 

* * *

 

“So you have no idea where he is?” Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. 

 

Henry, too, looked worried, but he seemed to put it aside. “Charlotte, darling, Will’s often out for a day or two…” 

 

“But this is different. He saw his family.” She sighed, not looking up from where she sat at her desk. The others had once again gathered around in the drawing room. “Ravenscar Manor. What were they doing there? Of all the places I thought they’d go… And just when I was hoping he would start to forget…” 

 

“No one forgets their family,” said Jessamine, sharp. Charlotte cast her an apologetic look, and Raimond trotted over, tail down. Jascuro ignored him. 

 

Jem, meanwhile, was staring at Charlotte, his silver gaze hard. “What do you mean, ‘of all the places you thought they’d go?’ Did you know something about this?” 

 

She glanced down at the ground, then back up, looking as though she much wanted to hide her face again. “When Will first came here,” she said, “his parents came to find him. I thought they’d kick the door down, asking to see him. He hid in his room and refused. I tried to make him understand that if I sent them away, by Law he could never see them again, but he told me he knew. And then he looked at me and said, ‘just promise me you’ll tell me if they die.’” Henry put a hand on her shoulder, and she went on, “It was such an odd request for a little boy to make. So I asked a warlock, Ragnor Fell, to keep track of them. That was against the Law, as well, but I couldn’t say no.” 

 

Jem put a hand on Kasimela’s back. “When Will wants something,” he said, “truly wants something, he can break your heart.” 

 

Charlotte only nodded. “Fell kept track of them for some time, but Will’s father, Edmund Herondale, eventually lost too much money, and they were forced to move. It was three years ago, I think. He lost them after that.” 

 

Her lips were tight, her eyes suspiciously bright with worry. “I’ll ask him to look into Ravenscar Manor again. Maybe it will lead us to Mortmain. Did Will say anything about where he was going?” 

 

Tessa just shook her head. 

 

“Then we must carry on,” she said. “Tessa… I don’t want to ask it of you, but if there’s any more information that can be gained -” 

 

Realizing what she was asking, Tessa swallowed, but nodded. “Yes. I can Change. I’ll see what he knows.” 

 

“Then,” said Charlotte, a weary tonelessness in her voice, “I am in your debt.” 

 

When she dropped her head into her hands this time, she didn’t lift it until the others had left the room, and she was alone in front of the fire. 


	8. In Crowded Palaces

Tessa sat in front of her table, early the next morning. She was wrapped in a loose dressing gown, rolling the stolen button over in her palm. Chali met her eyes.

 

“It’s still us,” he said.

 

“I know.” Still, she hesitated. The darkness she’d seen in Starkweather’s eyes wasn’t something she wanted to revisit.

 

She didn’t have to, she knew. She could walk out and tell them that she’d tried, but it hadn’t worked. But she knew even as the thought hit her that she couldn’t do that. Charlotte and Henry, in all their oddities, were kind. They were family.

 

Tessa thought of them and closed her fingers around the button. Then she reached within it.

 

Even beyond the pain of the Change, she was uncomfortable. Her hands felt large and swollen. Her back ached, her head felt heavy. There was a bitter taste in her mouth - rotting teeth. Shuddering, she reached for Starkweather’s mind.

 

It didn’t come all at once. Instead, it was like a mirror breaking, holding a thousand images. A horse rearing back, a hill covered in snow, the Council room, a cracked headstone. A laughing, oddly familiar woman in an empire-waisted ball gown.

 

There. Starkweather was watching from shadows, as a small house’s door opened. A tall, green-skinned man with black hair emerged, holding a small child by the hand. He hoisted the child up onto his shoulders, and laughter filled the air. The larger of their two daemons changed, rapidly, and the smaller mirrored it as best it could.

 

Tessa felt Starkweather’s disgust. She knew the warlock’s name because Starkweather did - John Shade.

 

Through the door after them came a number of metal automatons, faceless, like child’s dolls. They swayed as if dancing, and the child - Mortmain - clapped his hands, shrieking with laughter.

 

“Look well,” said Shade. “One day I’ll rule a clockwork kingdom, and you will be its prince.”

 

“John!” came a voice from inside. A woman with hair the color of a summer sky leaned out of the window. “You’ll frighten him.”

 

“He’s fine,” the man laughed, and ruffled his hair, setting him down. “A little clockwork prince.”

 

A swell of hatred rose in Starkweather, so strong that it ripped the memory free, spinning away through darkness. Tessa started to realize what was happening. He was going senile, losing the threads between thought and memory. The thoughts came and went, seemingly random.

 

She tried to visualize the Shades again, and caught a glimpse of a room torn apart, their bodies in the rubble. Then that, too, was gone. She saw instead the pale-haired girl from the portrait, over and over. Saw her riding a pony, saw her hair blowing in the wind off the moors.

 

Saw her screaming and writhing in pain as a stele was set to her skin and Marks stained it.

 

Then Tessa saw her own face, and felt Starkweather’s shock, so strong it threw her out of his body and into her own. The button fell from her hand, and she decided she had had enough of Aloysius Starkweather for the day.

 

* * *

 

Will wasn’t back at breakfast. Tessa hadn’t realized how much she’d been expecting him until she found herself looking back over his empty seat, as if she’d somehow missed him at first glance. She met Jem’s eyes, seeing worry there.

 

“Oh, stop moping,” said Jessamine. “He always comes crawling home. Look at the two of you, like you’ve lost a favorite puppy.”

 

Tessa and Jem exchanged another look. This one was still worried, but there was something oddly conspiratorial in it.

 

Charlotte picked at her food before declaring that she was going to send off the letter to Ragnor Fell, as well as adding to Sophie and Tessa that they ought not to mention Will’s disappearance to the Lightwoods during training. Sophie nodded, seeming unconcerned. But then, Sophie detested Will, and wanted to please Charlotte. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to hide his absence.

 

From the kitchen, Bridget’s voice rolled out in a sweet song.

 

_“Must I be born with so little art/As to love a man who’ll break my heart?”_

 

Tessa looked at Jem again. He smiled a wry smile. Shaking her head, she pushed her chair back and went to get changed for training.

 

* * *

 

The exhaustion from a long day of more sword drills was _almost_ enough to keep Tessa from her worry. Almost. It was only when she returned to her room after dinner - just as Will-less as breakfast had been - that her thoughts caught up with her.

 

What if he was hurt? What if he’d run off back to Yorkshire to warn his family? What if he’d done something foolish and needed help? What if Mortmain was holding him hostage? What if -

 

Chali pecked her hand, hard. “Stop it,” he said. “If you work yourself up too much, you’ll be in bad shape if you do need to help him.”

 

She groaned to herself, just as Sophie knocked once on the open door to her room, holding an envelope. “Mail for you, Miss Tessa.”

 

Tessa stared at her, jolted out of her worry. “Mail for _me?”_

 

“Yes, but it doesn’t say who it’s from. Miss Jessie almost snatched it, nosy thing.”

 

She took the envelope. It was indeed addressed to her, in an unfamiliar, slanted handwriting. She scarcely noticed Sophie’s departure as she unfolded the letter, spreading it out on her bed.

 

 _My dear Sensible Miss Gray,_ _  
_ _I write to you on behalf of a friend, one William Herondale. I know it is his habit to come and go - most often go - from the Institute as he pleases, and that therefore it may be some time before any alarm is raised. But I hold your good sense in esteem, and I ask you not to assume this absence is of the normal sort. I saw him last night, and he was, to say the least, Distraught when he left my residence. I am concerned he might do himself an injury, and I suggest that his whereabouts be sought and his safety ascertained. He is a difficult young man, but I believe you see the good in him._

_Your servant,_

_Magnus Bane._

_Postscript: If I were you, I would share the contents of this letter with Mr. Carstairs. And not, perhaps, with Mrs. Branwell. Just a suggestion._

_M. B._

 

Tessa wasn’t sure how she managed to wait another few hours, ensure everyone had gone to bed, and feign getting ready herself. But she did manage it, and then, letter in hand, she darted across the hall to Jem’s room, knocking softly.

 

Jem was in his nightclothes, a loose white shirt and trousers. He looked preoccupied, as well as pale and drawn, but his hair was an adorable rumpled mess of silver.

 

Without a word, Tessa held out the letter. He read it, eyes growing darker and darker, and then folded it up and set it aside.

 

“I knew it,” he said. “I felt it, and I told myself I was overreacting.”

 

Tessa blinked. “You don’t think he’d… really hurt himself, do you?”

 

Jem was rummaging in his wardrobe for day clothes. “Hurt himself? No. Deliberately put himself in a position to be hurt…” Kasimela chittered nervously. “I should go.”

 

Tessa raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you mean _we?_ I’m going with you. That letter was addressed to me, James.”

 

He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he was smiling crookedly. _“James,”_ he said. “Only Will calls me that. And hardly ever then.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be. I like the sound of it.” He vanished behind the screen to change, but didn’t break the conversation. “You’re right, you shouldn’t be left out of this. I’m going to try a tracking rune. I didn’t want to, before, but…”

 

Tessa’s thoughts, to her horror, seemed suddenly very fixated on the fact that Jem was wearing no clothes as he continued to talk to her, whether she could see him or not. She shook her head in a sharp motion. Will was in _danger,_ and this was what she thought about?

 

She looked to Chali for help, but he just twitched his wings. Fortunately, Jem emerged at that moment, fully dressed in gear, seeming oblivious to the mess of her thoughts. He beckoned her to follow, and they set off down the corridor, as quietly as they could.

 

Tessa had never been into most of the empty identical bedrooms, meant to house visiting Nephilim. She didn’t have any idea which one was Will’s. Jem, however, clearly did, and opened the door without hesitation.

 

Inside, it was a mess. Clothes draped over furniture and piled on the floor, books strewn about, old teacups left on the bedside table. The bed was made, and looked like it hadn’t been slept in in some time, if the piles of detritus on it were anything to go by. She examined a few of the loose papers on the bedspread, only to find that they were written in a language she didn’t understand. Meanwhile, Jem rummaged through the chest of drawers.

 

“Hm,” he said, but waved her off when she looked up, curious. Instead of answering, he held up a dagger with the Herondale crest on the hilt. “This was his father’s. He brought it with him from Wales. If anything, that might make it work better.” He pulled a stele from his pocket, tracing the same ink-black lines. This time, though, he pulled the side of his gear shirt down, revealing a rune on his shoulder, and put them directly beneath it.

 

Tessa recognized it from the Codex. That was Jem’s _parabatai_ rune, the one that bound him to Will. The tracking rune seemed to flare up with light as the _parabatai_ rune grew darker, and Jem winced.

 

“Brick Street,” he said. “Whitechapel.” The tracking rune was already fading into a thin, nearly invisible scar. His voice was soft and sad when he spoke again. “What are you doing, Will?”

  
After a moment, he shook his head. “We need Cyril to take the carriage. It’s too far to go on foot.”

 

Tessa only nodded, and took his hand. His fingers were callused, and hers still had small scratches from clawing through the dirt in Yorkshire.

 

Jem didn’t let go.

 

* * *

 

They sat across from each other in the carriage. Their hands - still joined - stretched across the distance between them, and Jem’s eyes were still dark with worry. Tessa imagined she looked little better.

 

“It’s a cruel part of the city we’re going into,” said Jem. “The East End slums. Be careful.”

 

“What’s he doing there?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Jem only shrugged.

 

“There are few harmless reasons to go down to Chapel after dark.”

 

Chali cooed. Gentle, quiet, but worried. Tessa stroked him with her other hand. “The tracking rune - does it only work on _parabatai?_ It seems… mystical.”

 

“It works better on _parabatai._ But anyone can use it. And every part of our lives has some sort of mystical component - weddings, births, deaths. A ceremony for everything.” Before she could ask, he half-smiled. “For _parabatai_ as well, yes.”

 

“Did you ask Will?”

 

The smile grew, though it was still tainted with concern. “He asked me,” he said. “We were training, messing about with longswords. He asked me and I said no, that he deserved someone who was going to live, who would look out for him all his life. He bet me he could get the sword away from me, and if he succeeded, I’d have to agree.”

 

“And he did?”

  


“In nine seconds flat,” said Jem with a laugh. “He’d been practicing in secret. Throwing knives have always been his weapons of choice, and I underestimated him.” He shrugged. “We were thirteen. They did the ceremony a few months later. That was… before. But I can’t imagine not having him as my _parabatai,_ no matter what else he is to me.”

 

Tessa squeezed his hand again. They still hadn’t separated. “Why didn’t you want to do it?” she asked. “When he asked you?”

 

Jem ran his free hand through his hair. “The ceremony strengthens you,” he said. “Makes you stronger, gives you each other’s strength to draw on if the other willingly gives it. Makes you aware of where the other one is. But… you can choose only one, and if your _parabatai_ dies, you will forever feel something missing. Forever feel incomplete. I didn’t think I was a very good bet, considering.”

 

“That seems harsh.”

 

Jem said something in a language she didn’t know. Not Latin, this time. _“Khalepa ta kala.”_

 

She frowned at him. “Is that… Greek?”

 

A nod. “It means ‘beauty is harsh.’”

 

She glanced down at the scars on his hand. Were any of the Nephilim unscarred? “Do you prefer those? The dead languages, Latin and Greek?”

 

He just shrugged. “I prefer English, and Mandarin.” At her inquisitive look, he went on. “I grew up speaking them. My father spoke English, and Mandarin badly. He used to say that he could never catch up to my mother and I in terms of languages.” His eyes were a little sad. “I rarely speak Mandarin anymore, though.”

 

“You can speak it to me,” said Tessa. “I won’t understand it, but I will enjoy it anyway.”

 

At this, he laughed. “你很漂亮.” His voice rose and fell melodically around the unfamiliar sounds.

 

“You see? I enjoyed it. What did you say?”

 

“I said your hair is coming undone,” said Jem. “Here.” He tucked an offending curl behind her ear. “You have to be careful you don’t give an enemy something to grab hold of.”

 

“Oh. Of course.” Tessa blushed. Again. She was fairly certain that Chali was laughing at her. Frustrated, she looked out the window, dropping Jem’s hand.

 

The scenery was rougher, now, dirtier. There was fog rolling off the Thames, and in the alleys between crumbling buildings, barefoot children watched the carriage roll by with empty eyes. Somewhere, someone was singing, their voice slurred on alcohol. _Cruel Lizzie Vickers._

 

The carriage rolled to a stop at a corner that seemed no different. Across the street, the lights from a tavern spilled out into the darkness. Weary-looking women in bright scanty dresses and rouge - prostitutes - sat on its steps, sharing cigarettes and calling out to passersby.

 

Jem opened the door, and she followed him down onto the broken cobblestones, not sure where to look. She was certain that if she made eye contact with anyone, they would see that she was uncomfortable, that she didn’t belong. So she looked straight ahead as Jem raised his hand and knocked on a narrow door, painted red.

 

It swung open after a moment, revealing a woman in a red dress, high-collared but fitted tightly to her body, so much so that Tessa averted her eyes. The woman’s eyes were lined with kohl, her black hair piled on her head and held in place with two thin sticks. She seemed to be playing up an exotic look, her mouth set in a lipstick-red pout. A brightly-colored bird daemon perched on her shoulder.

 

“No,” she said, the moment she saw Jem. “No Nephilim.”

 

She moved to shut the door, but he reached out to catch it. “No trouble,” he promised. “We’re not here for the Clave. It’s personal.”

 

She narrowed her eyes.

 

“We’re looking for someone,” he said. “A friend. If you can take us to him, we won’t bother you further.”

 

At that, she threw her head back and laughed. “There’s only one of your kind here.” She turned away from the door with a shrug. “Come in, then, if you must. Get him out of my establishment. Don’t disturb the guests.”

 

Tessa steeled herself. Together, with Jem, she walked through the doorway, and if she flinched when it shut behind them, Jem was the only one to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is it about Traveling while having Important Conversations that's so pleasant to read?


	9. Pestilence and Despair

The door opened to a narrow corridor. The air was heavy, and it smelled chokingly sweet, like incense and something unfamiliar. It only grew more intense as the corridor opened out into a large room, painted the same dark red as the door had been, and Tessa fought not to cough. If she was this bad off, what must Jem be feeling?

 

Instead of dwelling on that, she looked around. The room was full of lamps, carved with images that cast shadows on the walls and illuminated swirls of smoke. Along the walls were beds, bunks like the interior of the ship Tessa had taken to England, which felt so long ago. A large round table sat in the center of the room, and at it sat several men, their skin the same color as the walls.

 

They were sifting and weighing and sorting all sorts of powders Tessa didn’t recognize. They seemed to glimmer and shine under the lamplight, like ground jewels.

 

“It’s an opium den?” She murmured to Jem.

 

He was looking around, tension under his skin like a hummingbird’s wings. “No, not really.” He sounded distracted. “Demon drugs, faerie powders. All sorts of pretty, deadly things. Will comes here to buy the _yin fen,_ when I - When I can’t. I don’t know why he’d be here now.”

 

Another woman, dressed similarly to the one who had opened the door for them, looked them over, eyes calculating. She approached, hips swaying like a metronome under her skintight dress.

 

She leaned in to Jem, tapping his cheek with one red nail. “Madran says we have what you want, silver one,” she said. “No need for pretense.”

 

Jem flinched back from her touch, more unnerved than Tessa had ever seen him. She took a step forward, glaring, but the woman only glanced at her dismissively.

 

“I told you,” said Jem. “We’re here for a friend. Nephilim. 他现在在哪里?”

 

“I don’t know, but you are foolish to refuse,” said the woman. “There is little of the _yin fen_ left, and when it is gone, you will die. We struggle to obtain more, but lately -”

 

“Spare us your attempts to sell your merchandise,” snapped Tessa, putting herself between them. She couldn’t bear the look on Jem’s face. “Where is he?”

 

The woman shrugged. “There,” she said, and gestured towards one of the bunks along the wall. Jem whitened, and Tessa stared. The beds’ occupants were so still that she had thought they were empty. But no. They were full of sprawled figures, laying on their sides, arms splayed over the edges of the bed, or on their backs, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.

 

Without another word, Jem stalked across the room, Tessa on his heels. The people in the beds had blue, violet, red skin. Green hair like seaweed brushing pillows. Someone moaned, whether in pain or pleasure, she couldn’t tell. Someone was giggling helplessly, sadder than crying. Another voice repeated children’s rhymes.

 

“Will,” whispered Jem. He stopped at a bunk halfway along the wall, and leaned against it, as if he couldn’t stand. Kasimela whimpered, nosing at Will’s prone figure.

 

He was half-tangled in a rough blanket, wearing only trousers and a half-open shirt. Through it, Tessa could see his _parabatai_ rune, directly over his heart. His hair was wet with sweat, his cheeks red and feverish, and his chest rose and fell raggedly, as if he was having trouble drawing the air in. Issalinde lay curled on his chest, eyes unfocused, kneading at his flesh until she drew blood.

 

Tessa felt his forehead. It was burning.

 

“Jem,” she said. “Jem, we have to get him out of here.” But Jem was staring down at Will, motionless, his face white.

 

_“James!”_

 

When he still didn’t move, Tessa considered her options. Chali could change into something large enough to carry Will, but that would expose her as a warlock. She herself could Change into Jem and carry Will out, which posed the same problem.

 

But it seemed using his full name had stirred him from whatever thoughts held him frozen. He took Will’s arm and hauled him sideways, not very gently, bumping his head against the side rail of the bed.

 

Will groaned. “Let me go,” he slurred.

 

“Help me with him,” said Jem, without looking at Will. Together, they wrestled Will to his feet, one of his arms around each of their shoulders. He seemed delighted by this, nuzzling into Tessa’s neck and pressing a kiss to it. She shivered.

 

“Oh, good,” he said into her skin. “Now we’re all three together.”

 

“Shut up,” said Jem.

 

Will giggled. “Listen, you haven’t got any of the needful on you, have you? I’d stump up, but I’m flat out.”

 

Tessa stared at him. “What?”

 

“He wants me to pay for his drugs,” said Jem. His voice was stiff. “Let’s just get him to the carriage. I’ll come back with the money.”

 

Even the dirty Whitechapel air was cleaner than the incense stench of the drug den, and Cyril was waiting with the carriage. He looked at Will, concern on his face.

 

“Is he all right, then?” he asked, moving to take Will’s arm from Tessa’s shoulders and draping it around his own.

 

Will, predictably, did not like this. “Let me go,” he said, with some irritation. “Let me go, I can stand.”

 

Jem and Cyril exchanged glances, but moved apart. Issalinde seemed steady enough on her feet, after all - and they were correct. Will staggered, but stayed upright. He raised his head, the wind raising the sweaty hair from his forehead and neck, and looked into Jem’s eyes. Tessa thought of him on the roof of the Institute. _And I beheld London, a human awful wonder of God._

 

“You didn’t have to come fetch me,” he said. “I was having quite a pleasant time.”

 

Jem looked back at him. “God damn you,” he said, and hit Will across the face.

 

Will didn’t fall, but he reeled, stumbling into the carriage, his hand to his cheek. His mouth was bleeding, but he seemed too intoxicated to react, only staring idly at the blood on his fingers, his brows knit as he tried to make sense of it.

 

But Issalinde. Oh, Issalinde.

 

She was staring at Jem as if the world had fallen out from under her. Unable to move, her blue eyes full of such shock and hurt that it ached, somewhere deep in Tessa’s heart.

 

“Get him into the carriage,” said Jem, and turned to go back inside. Cyril, helping Will’s slumped form into the seat, wasn’t watching, but Tessa was.

 

Issalinde looked up, some of Will’s blood on her face where it had dripped miserably down. She stared after him, lost.

 

“James?” she said, her voice small.

 

The door slammed shut behind him.

 

Tessa couldn’t bear the look in Issalinde’s eyes. She climbed up into the carriage, Chali in her arms, and Issalinde followed, slowly.

 

Will was slumped in the seat, dripping blood onto the upholstery. Tessa pressed a handkerchief she hadn’t realized she was carrying to his chin, and he reached up and put his hand over hers.

 

“I’ve made a mess of things,” he said. “Haven’t I?”

 

“Dreadfully,” said Tessa, but her hand was gentle as she cleaned the blood from his face. She couldn’t help it.

 

He closed his eyes. “I’m so tired, Tess,” he whispered. “I only wanted pleasant dreams for once.”

 

“That is not the way to get them,” she said. “You cannot buy or drug or dream your way out of pain.”

 

Will had no response for this. Or if he did, Tessa never learned it, because it was then that the carriage door opened again. Jem threw himself into the seat across from them, and then they lurched forward into the night.

 

* * *

 

The moment they arrived at the Institute, Jem threw the door open and leapt out, calling to Cyril to please help Will to his room, thank you.

 

Tessa stared, then jumped after him. She followed him quickly enough to catch the door before it closed, but had to slow for fear of waking Charlotte or Sophie. She knocked at the door of his room, first, but receiving no answer, checked the music room, the training room, and the library. Even the attic, and the storage room in which they’d hidden, once, to spy on the Enclave.

 

She found nothing. Disconsolate, she returned to her room, putting on her nightgown and burying her face in Chali’s fur. He was a cat again, and she wasn’t surprised. The look on Issalinde’s face would haunt her, she knew, for quite some time yet.

 

Then, through the silence, there was a rending noise. The sound of something being wrenched apart. Tessa jolted upright.

 

Jem?

 

Slipping into her dressing gown, she rushed out the door and into the corridor. The noises were nothing like the music he had played on the night she met him, the moonlight-sound that drew her. This sounded like screaming, like pain. She ducked into his room, pulling the door closed fast after her.

 

“Jem,” she whispered.

 

There was only one witchlight lamp lit. He sat on the trunk at the foot of his bed, the violin propped on his shoulder. He was sawing at it viciously, furiously, making it scream. Kasimela was crying, odd little hitched sobs, but she made no move to stop him. As Tessa watched, one of the strings snapped with a shriek.

 

_“Jem!”_

 

When he didn’t look up, she strode across the room and wrenched the bow out of his hands. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t relinquish it, and they froze in a stalemate - but then his hands opened, and she held the bow to her chest. “Jem, stop. Your violin, your lovely violin, you’ll ruin it -”

 

He looked up at her. His pupils were blown wide, the silver only a tiny ring around the black. “What does it matter?” he asked, his voice breaking. “What does any of it matter? I’m dying. What does it matter if the violin goes before I do?”

 

Tessa froze. He had never spoken like that about his illness, not once.

 

He turned away from her, looking out the window. Mela, at his feet, was still weeping. “You know it’s true.”

 

“It’s _not_ ,” she said, her voice shaking. “Nothing’s decided. A cure -”

 

“There’s no cure.” He no longer sounded angry. Instead, there was only pain. “I will die, and you know it, Tessa. I am dying, and I have no more family in the world, and the one person I trusted more than any other made sport out of that which is killing me.”

 

And then, all at once, she understood. She leaned the bow down, against the footboard of the bed, and moved closer to him.

 

“He was trying to escape,” she said. “He’s running from something, some dark awful thing.”

 

“I know,” said Jem bitterly. “I know. He wasn’t thinking of me. And that’s just it, isn’t it? He toyed with that which will kill me as if it means nothing. When I would give anything to never have to see that place again.”

 

Tessa didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. So she pulled him into her arms.

 

Jem went still. For a moment, she panicked, thinking she’d done the wrong thing. But then he shook, dropping his head onto her shoulder, so she buried her face in his hair, feeling the tremors run through him.

 

He was still talking. “I tell myself he’s better than he makes himself out to be. But what if he isn’t? What if he isn’t? I have always thought, if I have nothing else, I had Will. If I have done nothing else that made my life matter, I have always stood by him. Should I have?”

 

“Yes,” said Tessa. Her voice shook, but her thoughts were steady. “You should have. He loves you. He hurt you, and you feel it because you love him. But you do not have nothing besides him. You are kind, and good, and have done so many things to make your life matter. And besides,” she said, hands tangled in his shirt. “You have me.”

 

Jem looked up at her, eyes wide. She’d said it now, and there was no going back.

 

For a moment, they stood there, chest to chest. And then someone leaned in, and someone moved first, and then they were kissing.

 

Tessa felt that same sudden happiness. That same feeling that something that had been constricting her heart had suddenly loosened, that things were going to be all right. God knew she needed to feel like that, tonight. Jem was hesitant, and he tasted like burnt sugar - the _yin fen_ on his lips.

 

This time, no one pushed anyone away. This time, no one stopped. They pulled each other closer, and closer, and Tessa was somewhat aware that this was incredibly improper, but when it came down to it, all she really wanted was _more._ The longer they kissed, the more she wanted - more kisses, more touching, more, more, more. So she put her hands in Jem’s hair and along his back, and whispered against his mouth -

 

“Teach me?” _Teach me what happens next. What happens now. More._

 

He broke away, looking her in the eyes, breathing hard. “Tessa - are you sure?”

 

“I am if you are,” she said, some confidence she didn’t know she had running through her. It was too soon, she thought, much too soon, but then she thought of how long she and Jem had been dancing around this, never quite there. “Will you take me to bed with you?”

 

He kissed her again, long and deep, and still a little sad, a little desperate. “Of course,” he said, and Tessa was happy and sad and wanting and nervous, but she didn’t want to let go of him, so she didn’t. They stumbled a little on their way to the bed, landing with Jem in her lap, straddling her hips. He looked at her again, his eyes full of so many intense emotions that she couldn’t identify them all. She suspected she looked much the same.

 

“你很漂亮,” he said again. “It doesn’t mean what I said - it means that you are beautiful. I didn’t want you to think I was taking liberties.”

 

Tessa put her hands on his chest, fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. “Take them,” she said, and kissed him again. She undid his buttons, and then her own dressing gown, wanting him to see her. To know her, to _understand_ her. To see the sadness and worry in her and see her fall apart.

 

He was kissing along her bare shoulder now, along her neck where Will had kissed earlier. She was running her hands over the many, many runes on his skin, enjoying the way he shivered, whispering, “you are beautiful, James Carstairs” over and over.

 

He was beautiful. He was hurt and she was hurt and he loved her and she loved him and oh, he was doing something to a spot on her neck that was making her shake, and his hands, hesitant now, as if not quite sure, were over her breasts, where she hadn’t been touched before. She tried to push herself up, into the touch, but the softness of the bed was no use. She reached out to the side table for some leverage.

 

There was a crash. Tessa hadn’t realized it, but she’d knocked against the box of _yin fen_. It fell to the floor in a rush of powder, and Jem pulled away in horror. She stared, speechless and frozen, at the dark silver that was keeping Jem alive. Killing him. One and the same.

 

“Tessa,” he said, urgently. “Tessa, you have to leave.”

 

“I can help, let me -”

 

“You shouldn’t touch it, I don’t know how much it takes -”

 

Was it always going to be like this? She thought, a little hysterically. Was she always going to kiss someone and then have them order her out of the room?

 

She closed her dressing gown, leaned up to kiss Jem one more time, and did as she was told.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, they're both very upset and should probably not be having sex with each other at this time, but like... they both wholeheartedly consented so I'm not tagging dub!con. And also they didn't get to much actual sex. 
> 
> Also, this chapter led to a fun conversation with my friend - what do daemons do when you have sex? Do they just stare at you uncomfortably from some furniture the whole time like cats do?  
> Issalinde probably would.


	10. Those Strange Lights

The next day dawned cloudy and overcast. 

 

Jem wasn’t at breakfast.

 

Tessa, somewhat panicked, pulled at Chali’s feathers until he sighed and became a snake, curling around her wrist and successfully avoiding her worrying fingers. 

 

What had she been  _ thinking? _ She’d asked him to take her to bed. He was probably avoiding her. No, he was definitely avoiding her. She didn’t blame him, really. He must think she’d lost complete control of herself. 

 

Will, at least,  _ was  _ at breakfast, which was a nice change from the worry of the day before. He distracted Tessa from her thoughts - and distracted everyone else from their food - by dropping dramatically into a chair and declaiming, “I went to an opium den last night.” 

 

No one gave him the reaction he was clearly seeking. Charlotte was drawn and exhausted, and so was Jessamine, oddly enough. Henry, absentminded as ever, was poring over diagrams at the end of the table. 

 

When Will sighed loudly enough to catch Charlotte’s attention, she set her newspaper aside and gave him a weary look. “That undoubtedly glorious part of your recent activities was not known to us,” she said. 

 

Jessamine picked up a sugar cube and bit into it, rather languidly. “Are you quite the hopeless addict now? They say it only takes once.” 

 

“It wasn’t really an opium den,” said Tessa, before she could stop herself. “It was more faerie powders, things like that.” 

 

“So perhaps not an opium den precisely,” said Will. “But still a den! Of vice!” Despite his upbeat tone, he looked a mess. His face was bruised where Jem had struck him, his eyes were red and bloodshot, and his face was pale. Issalinde, withdrawn and hesitant, sat on his lap without moving.

 

“Oh, not one of those places that’s run by ifrits,” said Charlotte. “Really, Will -” 

 

“Exactly one of those places,” said Jem, appearing in the doorway. Tessa fought not to squeak. He didn’t look at her as he slid into a chair next to Charlotte. “Off Whitechapel High Street.” 

 

“And how do you and Tessa know so much about it?” asked Jessamine, raising one eyebrow. “I swear, the three of you are all over each others’ business.” 

 

Jem shrugged. He wasn’t looking at Will, either. “I used a tracking spell to find him. I thought he might have forgotten the way back to the Institute.” 

 

“You worry too much,” said Jessamine. 

 

“You’re quite right. I won’t make that mistake again.” While light, Jem’s voice had the dangerous undercurrent that Tessa recognized. He reached for a plate of toast as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but his eyes were steely. “Will was not in need of assistance at all.” 

 

Will looked at him, thoughtful. “I seem to have woken up with what they call a Monday mouse,” he said, gesturing to his blackened eye. “Any idea where I got it?” 

 

Well, that explained why Will didn’t seem upset. Tessa’s discomfort increased tenfold, and she fought not to look at either of them. 

 

“None,” said Jem, over a sip of tea. 

 

Will looked at him sharply, but then shrugged. “You might want to know,” he said, directing the statement at Charlotte this time, “that I saw something interesting in the opium den.” 

 

“I’m sure you did,” she sighed. 

 

Henry glanced up from the diagram. “Was it an egg?” 

 

No one acknowledged this. Henry was Henry. “Downworlders,” said Will. “Almost all werewolves. They were buying  _ yin fen.  _ By the bucket.” 

 

Jem’s head snapped up, and he met Will’s gaze for the first time all morning. 

 

“They’d already begun to change color,” said Will. “Even their skin was starting to silver over.” He poked at his plate, without much appetite. “I’ve never seen anyone buy it before. People know what it does. Or if they don’t, they’re not foolish enough to gamble on it.” He looked at Jem, almost apologetically. Jem didn’t react. “But what’s important about it - an ifrit asked why they needed so much. Apparently it works on them as a stimulant, and the werewolf said it pleased the Magister that the drug kept them working all night long.” 

 

Charlotte dropped her teacup. It clattered onto the saucer with a sharp crash. “Working on  _ what?”  _

 

Will shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

 

“Dear God,” she murmured. “I’ll have to talk to Woolsey Scott, he’s in charge of most of them. I hope he’s not caught up in this. First De Quincey, now this - all our allies -” 

 

“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” said Henry. 

 

“You should be there when I speak with him.” Charlotte’s hands were trembling. “You  _ are _ the co-leader of the Institute.” 

 

“Oh, no,” said Henry, looking panicked. “Darling, you’ll be quite all right without me. You’re far better at negotiations. And I’m working on an invention that could shatter the whole clockwork army into pieces if I get the formulations right -” 

 

Charlotte looked at him for a long moment. Then she pushed her chair back from the table and left the room without a word. 

 

Will looked at Henry with his reddened eyes. “Nothing ever disturbs your circles, does it?” 

 

Henry blinked. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Archimedes,” said Jem, knowing what Will meant, for all that he still wasn’t looking at him. “He was drawing a mathematical diagram in the sand when his city was conquered by Romans. He was so intent that he didn’t see the soldier coming up behind him, so his last words were ‘do not disturb my circles.’ Of course, he was an old man by then.”

 

“And probably not married,” said Will, with half a grin at Jem. 

 

The grin was not returned. Without looking at Will, or at Tessa, he got to his feet and left the room after Charlotte. 

 

“Oh, bother,” said Jessamine. “Is this one of those days where we all stalk out in a fury? Because I don’t have the energy for it.” Jascuro put his head under his wing. 

 

Henry looked bewilderedly from Will to Tessa. “What is it? What have I done wrong?” 

 

“Nothing dreadful,” said Tessa. “It’s just - I think she wanted you to come with her.” 

 

“Then why didn’t she say so?” Henry looked mournful, confused. His joy over the invention had vanished. Perhaps he shouldn’t have married Charlotte, Tessa thought, rather bleakly. Perhaps, like Archimedes, he would have been happier drawing his circles in the sand. 

 

“Because people don’t say what they think,” said Will, who was looking from the door to Issalinde and back, just as mournfully. 

 

Bridget’s sweet voice echoed from the kitchen. 

 

_ “I fear you are poisoned, my own pretty boy, _

_ I fear you are poisoned, my comfort and joy! _

_ Oh yes I am poisoned, so make my bed soon,  _

_ There’s a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down -”  _

 

“I wish she wouldn’t sing about poisoning right after we’ve eaten,” said Will. He looked sideways at Tessa, as if afraid she wouldn’t look at him either. His shoulders relaxed slightly when she met his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be putting on gear? Haven’t you got training with the lunatic Lightwoods?” 

 

“Yes, but it’s just knife throwing. I might as well learn to do that in a dress,” said Tessa, somewhat amazed that she was having a civil, everyday conversation after everything. After carrying him out into the night, cleaning the blood from his face. After seeing the look in Issalinde’s eyes. 

 

Will grinned. “I am a crack hand at knife throwing, and it’ll drive Gabriel mad if I watch the training. I could do with some madness this morning.” 

 

* * *

 

Will was correct. His presence maddened Gabriel enough that he nearly dropped two knives. Will sat on a low bench, eating an apple and calling out advice that Gideon ignored and Gabriel took like a cuff over the head. 

 

“Can’t you tell him to go away?” Gabriel muttered, after a while. 

 

“Now, why would I do that?” Tessa sighted down her arm, trying to aim properly. “Will is my… friend, and you’re someone I don’t even like.” She cursed the hesitation in her voice. 

 

“You’re still weighting the point too much, and what do you mean you don’t like me?” 

 

Tessa threw the knife - it missed by several feet - and took another. “Well, you behave as if you dislike  _ me.  _ In fact, you behave like you dislike us all.” She threw again, trying to balance it further towards the hilt of the knife. Closer, this time. 

 

“I don’t,” said Gabriel. “I just dislike  _ him.”  _

 

“Dear me,” said Will. “Is it because I’m better-looking than you?” 

 

“Both of you be quiet,” said Gideon, who was adjusting Sophie’s arm. “We’re meant to be working, not snapping at each other over old petty disagreements.” 

 

“He  _ broke my arm!”  _ snarled Gabriel. Will shrugged and took another bite of the apple. Tessa threw the next knife, and smiled when it landed, if not in the center of the target, at least in the black circle. 

 

Gabriel looked around for another knife to hand to her, and, not seeing one, huffed. “When we run the Institute,” he said, “this room will be better stocked.” 

 

Tessa narrowed her eyes. “And you wonder why I don’t like you.” 

 

“I don’t see what this has to do with you, little warlock.” His daemon’s red eyes were narrowed. “This place isn’t your home. You’d be better off with my family running things here, we could find uses for your talent. Employment that would make you rich. And Charlotte could go run the Institute in York, where she’d do considerably less harm.” 

 

Will sat up, apple forgotten. “If you hadn’t noticed,” he said, “someone already runs the York Institute.” 

 

“Aloysius Starkweather is senile,” said Gabriel, with a dismissive wave. “Since the business with his daughter -” 

 

“What business?” Tessa asked, remembering the portrait hung in the hall. 

 

“Only lived to ten or so,” said Gabriel. “Never was very strong, by all accounts. And when they first Marked her… well, she must not have been properly trained. She went mad, turned Forsaken, and died. The shock killed Starkweather’s wife, and sent his other older children running for Idris. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to replace him with Charlotte. He’s no good.” 

 

Tessa filed the story away to think about later. “Charlotte runs this Institute,” she said. “Your father won’t take it from her.” 

 

“She deserves to have it taken from her.” 

 

Will threw his apple core into the air, then took a knife from his belt and threw that. The knife and the apple sailed past Gabriel’s head before sticking into the wall. “Say that again,” he said, Issalinde bristling beside him, “and I’ll darken your lights for you.” 

 

Gabriel’s face twisted into an ugly expression. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He ignored Gideon when his brother stepped forward, as if to calm him, and kept talking. “You don’t even know what your precious Charlotte’s father did to mine, do you? My mother’s brother - my uncle, Silas - was one of Granville Fairchild’s closest friends. Then he broke the Law - a tiny thing, a minor infraction - and Fairchild discovered it. All he cared about was the Law, not friendship, not loyalty. He went straight to the Clave.” Gabriel’s voice rose. “My uncle  _ killed  _ himself in shame, and my mother died of the grief. The Fairchilds don’t care about anyone but themselves and their precious Law!” 

 

For a moment, the room was silent. Even Will didn’t seem to have a reply. Finally, Tessa spoke. 

 

“That’s the fault of Charlotte’s father,” she said. “Not her.” 

 

“You don’t understand,” said Gabriel. “Granville Fairchild wanted the Institute to go to his daughter, and the Consul made it happen. But he’s dead now, and we can still take it away from him. He was hated, so hated that no one would have married Charlotte if he hadn’t paid off the Branwells to hand Henry over. Everyone knows he doesn’t really love her, how could he -” 

 

There was a crack, like the sound of a rifle shot, and Gabriel fell silent. Sophie had slapped him across the face, breathing hard. 

 

There seemed to be a lot of that going around, Tessa thought, and scolded herself for it. Sophie looked terrified. 

 

Gabriel didn’t say a word. After a long silence, he turned on his heel and walked out. 

 

Sophie, panicked, looked up at Gideon, her shoulders tense, one hand up to ward off a blow. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’m sorry,” she babbled. “There’s no excuse, I lost my head, I -” 

 

“It was well-placed,” said Gideon calmly. “You’ve been paying attention to training.” 

 

Sophie just winced. 

 

Will sat up on the bench. “Was it true? That story?” 

 

Gideon shrugged. “More or less. But bear in mind it was our father who told him. Gabriel worships him, and would take it as a pronouncement from on high. Yes, our uncle killed himself. But it wasn’t out of shame for breaking the Law.” 

 

“What did he do?” asked Tessa, without caring that it was rather an invasive question. 

 

“Silas? He fell in love with his _parabatai,_ Eloisa Ravenscar,” said Gideon. “Not the end of the world. A shame, but not an insurmountable one.” 

 

Will flinched, almost imperceptibly. Tessa saw it anyway. But Gideon was still talking. 

 

“The Clave was going to separate the two of them forever, and Silas couldn’t face that. That’s why he killed himself. He died for love. My mother was full of rage, I remember that much. I wouldn’t be surprised if her dying wish was to take the Institute from Granville’s daughter. But Gabriel was younger than I was when she died. He barely remembers her, and I expect he wants to honor her wishes above all. Whereas I feel the sins of the fathers shouldn’t be visited on the sons.” 

 

It was the most Tessa had ever heard him speak. He didn’t even seem surly, his hand resting on his daemon’s head in a relaxed, easy gesture. 

 

“Or the daughters,” said Will, and Gideon smiled at him with no dislike. 

 

“He won’t come back here after this,” he said. Sophie paled. 

 

“Mrs. Branwell will be furious -” 

 

Tessa shook her head. “I’ll go after him and apologize. It’ll be all right, Sophie.” 

 

She was partway down the corridor when she realized Will was following her, and she turned to him in exasperation. 

 

“He’s not going to listen to me if you’re there, he hates you.” 

 

“Oh, please,” said Will. “He’s already gone. Come see.” He pulled her towards the drawing room, and it seemed he was right - through the window, she could see the carriage rolling away. She fought back an odd desire to laugh. 

 

“The look on his face,” she said, and then she did giggle a little. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh. I should be angry with you, it was partly because of you goading him.” 

 

“Should, should,” said Will. He dropped into a chair, stretching his legs out. “No good sentences ever include the word ‘should’. I  _ should  _ have paid the tavern bill, now they’re coming to break my legs. I  _ should  _ never have run off with my best friend’s wife, now she devils me constantly. I  _ should  _ -” 

 

“You  _ should,”  _ said Tessa, seriously, “think about how the things you do affect Jem.” 

 

Will blinked at her. Drowsy and worn and beautiful. “Is this a serious conversation now, Tess?” 

 

She sat in the chair across from him. Chali became a little finch again, flying over to nuzzle into Issalinde’s back. “Aren’t you worried that he’s upset with you? He’s never upset.” 

 

“Perhaps it’s for the best. His level of saintlike patience can’t be good for anyone.” 

 

“Don’t mock him.” 

 

“No one’s beyond mockery.” 

 

“Jem is,” said Tessa, frustration boiling under her skin. “He loves you, and he’s nothing but goodness. That he hit you last night only shows how capable you are of driving saints to madness.” 

 

Will stared at her, his mouth slightly open.  _ “Jem  _ hit me?” He put a hand to his cheek. “I… I didn’t remember. Only that the two of you woke me, and carried me out, though I very much wanted to stay asleep. He carried me, and so did you, I think - you smelled like lavender.” 

 

Tessa ignored this. She didn’t smell anything like lavender. “Well, yes, Jem hit you. And I think you deserved it.” 

 

His eyebrows drew together, just slightly. “Then tell me, scornful angel. What did I do to deserve being hit in the face by lovely James?” 

 

Tessa reached for words, but couldn’t find them. “You know that essay of Donne’s, when he says something about - no one is an island? Everything you do touches others. Yet you never think about it, do you? It’s like you live on some sort of, of Will Island, and none of the things you do matter, but they do.” 

 

“How does my going to a warlock den affect Jem? I suppose he had to come and haul me out, but I’d do the same for him -” 

 

Tessa groaned in frustration. Chali took some of Issalinde’s fur in his beak and yanked, making her hiss and yowl. Will looked at her with a slightly exasperated confusion. “Do you think he really cares about the  _ danger? _ His whole life was destroyed by this drug, and there you go off to some opium den to fill yourself up with it as if it’s just a game to you. It’s killing him, and he hates to be dependent on it, and you swan on down to Whitechapel to throw your money at the people who make these drugs and addict other people to them. What were you thinking?” 

 

Will looked defensive. “It had nothing to do with Jem at all -” 

 

“You didn’t think about him,” said Tessa. “But you should have. Don’t you understand? He thinks you’re making a mockery of what’s killing him.” 

 

“He can’t think that.” But Will had gone pale. 

 

“He does. He understands you don’t care about what other people think of you, but I believe he thought you’d care what  _ he  _ felt, what he thought.” 

 

Will leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. “I do care what people think,” he muttered. “It’s all I think about.” 

 

Tessa stared at him. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t get the chance, because the door opened. She looked up, hoping some mad hope that it was Jem - but no. It was Charlotte, and a guest. They got to their feet, looking over at the newcomer. 

 

Said guest was tall and thin, with a mop of dirty blond hair and a wolf daemon. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and he had a monocle. This was the most interesting thing about him, Tessa thought. 

 

Charlotte turned to Will, giving him a frustrated look. “Will, I know you knew that I was meeting with Mr. Scott in the drawing room.” 

 

“Forgot,” said Will succinctly. 

 

So this was Woolsey Scott, the leader of the werewolves. He looked them over, half a smile on his face. “Oh, do let them stay, Charlotte. They make a charming pair. Quite the pretty faces.” He flopped into a chair, arranging his scarf. “Sit, don’t be intimidated by me. And ring for some tea, I’m parched.” 

 

Tessa looked to Charlotte, who just shrugged. She sat back down, not looking at Will. 

 

“And where’s Mr. Carstairs? Adorable. Such interesting coloring. Pity about his illness.” 

 

Will tensed, taking offense at Woolsey Scott’s tone. Tessa didn’t blame him. 

 

“In a way,” said Charlotte, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She looked to Will. 

 

Will repeated what he’d said that morning, though he kept any sarcastic comments to a minimum. When he’d finished, Scott just shrugged. 

 

“Don’t see why that required an urgent letter. I can’t keep an eye on all of London’s wolves at once. If some of them choose to partake in vice, that’s their prerogative.” He looked at Will from behind his monocle. “You do know that your eyes are a  _ fascinating  _ shade of dark blue. Typically, blue eyes are lighter than that.” 

 

“I think,” said Will, “it was the mention of Mortmain that concerned Charlotte.” 

 

“Ah. You think I’m betraying you the way you thought De Quincey was. That I’m in league with Mortmain and letting him use the wolves to further his ends.” 

 

“I had thought,” said Charlotte, hesitant, “that perhaps Downworld felt betrayed by the Institute, after what happened with De Quincey. His death -” 

 

“Was the best surprise I’ve had since I discovered the Turkish Baths. I despised De Quincey.” 

 

Tessa remembered something, suddenly, that she’d seen in Camille’s memories. “He had a werewolf killed,” she said. “For a friendship with Camille Belcourt.” 

 

Scott turned to her. He stared, long and curious. “That,” he said, “was my brother. My older brother. But now, you see, you’ve taken care of avenging him for me. A pity, I wanted to make him burn myself. Though I suppose I’m grateful. Did he die well?” 

 

“He died screaming,” said Charlotte. 

 

“What a beautiful thing to hear.” Scott smiled viciously. “For this, you’ve earned a favor. Mortmain came to me in the early days, wanting me to join his Pandemonium Club. I refused, for De Quincey had already joined, and I would have no part of it. He let me know there would be a place for me if I changed my mind -” 

 

“Did he tell you what he wanted to do with it?” Interrupted Will. 

 

“Destroy all the Nephilim,” said Scott. “I rather thought you knew that. It’s not a  _ gardening  _ club. He would see your kind wiped out, though I think he’s content to start with England and work his way from there. Anyway, there’s a group of young wolves, not in any pack, who have been doing some kind of underground work and getting paid well for it. I was not aware of any drug.” 

 

“It will keep them working for him, night and day, until they drop from exhaustion or it kills them,” said Will. “And there’s no cure for addiction to it.” 

 

Scott looked at him, neutral. “This silver powder, it’s what your James Carstairs is addicted to, isn’t it? And he’s alive.” 

 

Will’s voice was flat. So was his expression. “He survives it because he’s Nephilim, and because he uses as little as possible, as infrequently as possible. And even then, it will kill him in the end. As would withdrawing from it.” Issalinde pushed her head into Will’s hands in a rare gesture of comfort. 

 

“Well, well,” said Scott. “I do hope that Mortmain’s merrily buying up the stuff doesn’t create a shortage, in that case.” 

 

Will went white. Without another word, he was on his feet and out the door. 

 

“Lord, he’s off to Whitechapel again,” sighed Charlotte. “Was that necessary, Woolsey? You terrified him, and probably for nothing.” 

 

“Nothing wrong with a bit of foresight,” said Scott. “Is our conversation finished, then?” He got to his feet, stretching. “I have quite a lot to do. An old friend of mine wishes to catch up.” 

 

Charlotte made no move to stop him from leaving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel's daemon is a black-winged kite. Think I forgot to mention that. 
> 
> Sophie's, Belden, is a sugar glider.


	11. There, Hovering

 

It was late when Will returned to the Institute. This didn’t surprise him. It was raining, too, which made him think of home. 

 

He could do without that. He remembered how it had rained on the roof of their house, how it felt to roll down a damp hill, laughing and getting grass in your hair and in your clothes. How his sisters had laughed at him, too.  _ Will, you’ll ruin your shirt. Will, Mother will be furious.  _

 

_ Will, wait for me. I’m coming with you.  _

 

He shrugged out of his coat as he started up the stairs, shaking out his wet hair as Issalinde did the same. The packet he’d bought from the ifrit den was still safe in his pocket, but he touched it, just to be sure. Then he headed off towards Jem’s room. 

 

He wasn’t in it. He was pacing back and forth in front of Tessa’s room instead, Mela worriedly watching him. Will fought back a smile. He’d never seen Jem infatuated with anyone before - their love had grown differently. Slower. 

 

(He remembered his dreams from the drugs they had given him, where Tessa had walked beside him, sat next to him in the grass in a field of lavender.  _ Do you love me?  _ He’d asked. She had only smiled at him, and pulled him in.)

 

Jem had noticed his arrival. He backed away from Tessa’s door, his face blank and polite. Will’s heart dropped. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you wandering the halls at all hours.” 

 

“I think we can agree that the reverse is more out of character,” said Will. “Why are you awake? Are you all right?” 

 

“I was going to apologize to her,” said Jem. “Where have you been?” 

 

Will grinned, but Jem didn’t return it. “I have something for you, actually. Will you let me into your room? I don’t want to spend all night standing in the hall.” 

 

There was a hesitation, but Jem shrugged and opened his door. Will followed him through, bolting the door behind them as Jem sat on the bed. Will settled himself on the trunk at its end. There was a fire in the grate, but it had burned down to coals. 

 

There was a silence. Jem broke it. “What is it, then -” a sharp cough interrupted him, and though it passed quickly, when he brushed the back of his hand across his mouth, it came away streaked in red. Will flinched, and moved to sit next to him, their odd tension be damned. He wanted to pull Jem to him, heal him by sheer force of determination. Instead, he offered the packet. 

 

Jem stared down at it. “I have enough of this,” he said. “For another month. Or did Tessa tell you…” 

 

“Tell me what?” 

 

And there was that familiar blush. “I spilled some of it last night. Well. Tessa hit the box in error.” 

 

“Tessa... hit the box?” Will felt as if he was missing something. “What  _ happened?”  _

 

But Jem was still angry with him. No answer was forthcoming. “I don’t need this yet. It wasn’t necessary.” 

 

“Mortmain’s been buying up the entire supply in the East End,” he said. “If you had run out and he was the only one with a supply -” 

 

“We would have been put in his power,” said Jem. “Unless you were willing to let me die, which would be the more sensible course of action.” 

 

“I would  _ not _ be willing,” snapped Will. 

 

“I had begun to wonder if you were capable of the desire to spare anyone suffering.” 

 

Will felt the words like another blow. He noticed, dimly, that Issalinde had been trying to approach Mela since he’d come in. Mela glared at her, eyes narrowed. “I…” he fought for words. It had been too long, he thought, since he’d ever apologized to anyone. He wondered for a panicked moment if he still remembered how to do it. 

 

“I spoke to Tessa today,” he said, finally. “She… made me understand that what I did was unforgivable. Though, I hope you’ll still forgive me?”  _ God, I’m terrible at this.  _

 

Jem raised one eyebrow. 

 

“I went there because I couldn’t stop thinking about my family. I wanted to stop thinking, but I didn’t stop to think how it would look to you. I suppose I’m asking for forgiveness for that… for my lack of consideration. For not thinking. I hurt you, and it was a mistake.” His voice dropped. “Everyone makes mistakes?” 

 

“Yes,” said Jem. “You just seem to make more of them than most people.” 

 

“I -” 

 

“You hurt everyone,” he said, staring off towards the fire. “As if it’s pleasant for you.” 

 

“Not you,” said Will, feeling wretched. “I hurt everyone but you. I never meant to hurt you.” 

 

Jem pressed his palms into his eyes, sighing. Mela clambered into his lap. 

 

“You can’t never forgive me,” said Will, a note of panic in his voice now. “I’d -” 

 

“Be alone? And whose fault is that?” But Jem lowered his hands, and his eyes were softer, his face less set. Now he merely looked exhausted, leaning back against the headboard. “I would always have forgiven you,” he muttered. “I would have forgiven you even if you hadn’t apologized. I’m surprised you did - Tessa’s a good influence on you.” 

 

“I’m not here because she wants me to be. I’m here because I’m sorry. James -” Will’s voice shook. “I’d die for you. You know that. I’d die  _ without  _ you. I owe you everything, and if you cannot believe I have any empathy, please at least think I know love, and honor, and -” 

 

Jem looked actually alarmed, now. “Will. You’re far more upset than my temper deserves. You know I never had much of one. What is it?” His tone was soothing, but some part of Will could not be soothed. 

 

“I went to get you that medicine because I can’t bear the thought of you dying or in pain when I can do something to prevent it, and I did it because I was afraid, because if Mortmain came to us and said he was the only one with the drug that could save your life, you know I would give him whatever he wanted just so I could get it for you, because I am selfish, because I love you -” 

 

“ _ William.” _ Jem leaned forward, looked into Will’s face. “You must know…” 

 

Will looked back. He remembered Jem as he had been when he’d first arrived, when he’d seemed to be all dark eyes in a pale, set face. It hadn’t been easy to make him laugh, then. Will had set himself to trying anyway. “Know what?” 

 

“That I will die anyway,” he said, quiet. There was a trace of blood still at the corner of his mouth. 

 

Will pulled him close, dropped his head to Jem’s shoulder, and clung to him. “You swore to stay with me,” he said into Jem’s shirt. “When we made our oath as  _ parabatai.  _ We’re one person.” 

 

“We are two people,” said Jem, but his arms were around Will anyway. “Two people with a covenant between us.” 

 

“A covenant that says you must not go where I can’t come with you.” 

 

“Until death,” said Jem, gently.  _ “Until aught but death part thee and me.”  _ He pressed his lips to Will’s forehead, to the top of his head, over and over. “Do you know why I agreed to be your  _ parabatai?  _ And, later, why I kissed you when you told me you loved me?” 

 

“No better offers forthcoming?” Will tried for humor, but his voice sounded like broken glass. Jem coughed again, and Will felt it all through his chest. He swallowed thickly. 

 

“I loved you, and I thought you needed that,” said Jem. “Needed me. There’s a wall you’ve built around yourself, Will, and I never asked you why. But no one should shoulder every burden alone. I was afraid, before. That when I died, you’d be left alone inside that wall. But now… something’s changed, and I don’t know why, but I know it’s true.” 

 

“What’s true?” 

 

“The wall is coming down.” 

 

At that, Will did kiss him. He tasted like blood and Jem, and Will just pulled him closer, hesitantly, running his hands up under Jem’s shirt with half an offer and half a plea. Gentle, very gentle, careful not to jar him or hurt him any more than he must already be hurt.  _ Help me forget.  _

 

Jem just bit at his lower lip and laughed. “I am not so feeble that you must treat me like glass, William,” he said. “You know that.” 

 

And then his hands were back on Will, slipping under his clothes, so Will pushed him back onto the bed, and from there, they fell into their own familiar rhythm. And if Will wept, at the end, and held Jem closer than usual, Jem didn’t say a word about it. 

 

He only kissed him, tasting like blood. 

 

* * *

 

Tessa couldn’t sleep. Jem hadn’t been at dinner, though she suspected he was ill, and not avoiding her. She wanted to go to his room, but the door had been locked, and she expected Will had beaten her there and locked her out. 

 

Perhaps Will had gone back to hating her, now. Another stumble in the dance. Did he know what had happened between her and Jem? Would he care? He  _ should _ care, but she got the oddest feeling that he didn’t. But perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. 

 

There was a knock at the door. Tessa jumped out of bed, running to it.

 

It was Sophie. Tessa tried to hide her disappointment, and then did a double-take. Sophie was pale, shaking. Her cap was askew, her hair tumbling down, and there was a spot of what looked like blood on her collar. 

 

“Sophie? What’s happened?” 

 

Her hands twisted in her skirt. “May I come in, miss?” 

 

Without hesitation, Tessa opened the door. When they were safely inside, she gestured for her to sit. “What’s going on? Are you all right?” 

 

“Yes - well - no - it’s Miss Jessamine,” said Sophie. “She’s been sneaking out at nights.” 

 

Tessa blinked. “She has?” 

 

“Yes, miss. Dressed like a man. Sometimes her bed’s not slept in at all. I didn’t want to tell Mrs. Branwell, since I did believe she’d just found a suitor, and Mrs. Branwell was too preoccupied with everything, you see.” When Tessa nodded, she continued, “But I found this, in the pocket of her jacket.” 

 

Sophie held out a small square of paper. Tessa looked it over. 

 

_ July 20, 1878 _

_ Mr. BENEDICT LIGHTWOOD  _

_ Presents his compliments  _

_ To MISS JESSAMINE LOVELACE _

_ And requests the honor of her Company  _

_ At a Masquerade Ball given on Tuesday Next _

_ The 27th of July R.S.V.P.  _

 

That was concerning enough, but it was what was written on the back that made Tessa freeze. In a casual hand, as familiar to her as her own, it read: 

 

_ My Jessie. My very heart is bursting at the thought of seeing you tomorrow night. Do wear the white dress, darling, as you know how I like it - in gloss of satin and shimmer of pearls, as the poet said. Yours always, N. G.  _

 

“Nate,” Tessa said, weakly. “Nate wrote this. And quoted  _ Tennyson.”  _ She felt rather betrayed - she had  _ liked  _ Tennyson, before this. 

 

Sophie drew her breath in. “I - I feared, but I thought -” 

 

“I know my brother’s handwriting,” said Tessa. Chali’s feathers were puffed, making him look larger than usual. Distantly, Tessa wondered why he did that when he could simply make himself look large and threatening. Then she wondered if her habit of having odd, intrusive thoughts of nonsense in serious situations would ever lessen. “He’s planning to meet her. Sophie, where’s Jessamine? I need to speak to her. Now.” 

 

Sophie’s hands began twisting faster. “Well, you see, that’s the thing -” 

 

“Oh, God, has she gone already? We’ll have to get Charlotte, I don’t see another way -” 

 

“She hasn’t gone, she’s in her room,” said Sophie. Belden ran from one of her shoulders to the other, then back again. “You see, miss - well - she saw me with the letter, and she came at me, and -” Sophie winced. “I hit her in the head. With a silver-backed mirror, you know, it was quite heavy, and she went down like a stone, but she was breathing, so I tied her to the bed and came here.” 

 

Tessa stared. Sophie stared back, hands still twisting. “Sophie,” she said. “To be clear, she saw you with the letter, so you knocked her out and tied her to her bed?” When Sophie just nodded, wincing, and Tessa had fought off her urge to laugh, she said, “We have to get Charlotte.” 

 

“No, we can’t! She’ll sack me, she’ll have to -” 

 

“Well, someone has to go to this. If Nate’s there it might be our only chance to find out what he’s doing, and if we tell the Clave, Benedict’s allies might get wind of it -” Tessa shook her head. “We can’t do nothing. Jem and Will, then.” 

 

This didn’t seem to appeal much to Sophie either, but she didn’t argue. She went back to watch over Jessamine, and Tessa, throwing on a dressing gown, crossed the hall. 

 

Jem’s door was still locked. Tessa pounded on it with closed fists, disregarding the stab of guilt she felt for waking Jem when he was ill. But it was Will who opened the door, after a while of furious knocking. 

 

A very rumpled, very shirtless Will, with his hair mussed and the runes on his chest standing out. Tessa’s eyebrows flew up, and she blinked rapidly before forcing herself not to stare by looking past him. Jem was still fast asleep, despite the noise, curled around Mela on his side. The sheet was pulled up over him, but he seemed not to be wearing much of anything. 

 

“Evening, my scornful angel.” Apparently, the nickname from the drawing room had stuck. “What is it?” Will’s eyes were still red-rimmed. Tessa put aside thoughts of what they’d been doing, and any reactions to said thoughts, for later. 

 

“Will you wake him? I need to talk to you both, it’s urgent, it’s Jessamine.” 

 

Will seemed to wake fully at that. “He’s ill, he needs to rest. What is it?” 

 

“Then perhaps  _ you  _ shouldn’t be wearing him out,” said Tessa, only to go scarlet with horror as she realized what she’d said. Will smirked at her, raising one eyebrow. 

 

“You can take it up with him in the morning, if you’re so worried about his well-being. Are you  _ jealous,  _ Tess?”

 

She refused to look at him. “No. Not really. But it’s not important now - can  _ you  _ at least put on a shirt and come to Jessie’s room?” 

  
When Will nodded, Tessa slammed the door in his face, blushing furiously. Chali twittered with laughter, making her glare. Damn it all, why did it have to be so  _ complicated?  _ Why couldn’t she just… know where she fit into their lives, without this endless back and forth and worry? 

 

It wasn’t worth the mental energy. Not when she already had to worry about Jessie and Nate and Benedict. She turned, ran down the hall, and tried to push it from her mind. 

 

* * *

 

Will was very impressed with Sophie’s handiwork. So was Tessa, though she didn’t admit it. 

 

Jessamine, blood drying on her forehead, was laying atop the covers on her bed, chest rapidly rising and falling. Jascuro, equally unconscious, rested over her heart, his blue-gray feathers spread. 

 

Will leaned over her, examining the ropes before shaking his head. “Your skill with a mirror, dear Sophie, greatly surpasses your skill with knots.” He pulled out a stele, and moved Jessie’s hair aside to mark her neck with two runes. One  _ iratze _ for healing that Tessa recognized, and another she’d seen once in the Codex, for sleep. “That’ll keep her down until morning.” 

 

Sophie hovered nervously near the door while Will stared down at Jessamine’s limp form, seemingly thinking hard. Finally, he turned to Tessa. “Would you be amenable to attending a party with me?” He asked, his eyes glittering with some slight amusement. 

 

“Do you remember the  _ last  _ party we went to?” 

 

“Yes, but we don’t have much time if we want to catch Nate before he leaves. Definitely not enough time to tell the Clave.” 

 

“And Benedict’s allies,” added Tessa. “You’re right.” She hesitated, though. “Are you sure we shouldn’t wake Jem?” 

 

Will’s expression was bleak. “He’s coughing blood again. He’d say he’s well enough to go, but he’d be lying.” 

 

Tessa sighed. “Then it’ll just be us, won’t it. Sophie, do you know where Jessamine’s dress is?” 

 

* * *

 

Chali didn’t complain about taking Jascuro’s form, this time. Tessa felt Jessie’s confusion, but pushed it away - she didn’t want to deal with that now. Besides, it wasn’t really Jessie, just an echo, albeit an echo that behaved exactly as she would have. Jessamine was still unconscious. 

 

She put on the fashionable, uncomfortable white dress - it would never have fit her own body, tight as it was on Jessamine’s slim frame - and walked down into the courtyard. 

 

Will was waiting, and she climbed quickly into the carriage. He had undoubtedly made some excuse to Cyril about  _ why  _ he was taking Jessamine to Chiswick in the middle of the night, but she wasn’t aware of it. 

 

They rode in silence, for a while. Will broke it. “What’s it like, being Jessamine? I suppose it’s hard to meddle in someone’s brains if they don’t have any to start with.”    
  


Tessa grimaced. “Be flippant about it if you like,” she said, in Jessie’s haughty tones. “But… there’s something wrong with her. She’s all rage, and pain, and longing, in a perfect little shell.” 

 

Will’s expression was sad, but he didn’t have an answer to that, so Tessa spoke again. 

 

“There’s another reason you didn’t want to wake up Charlotte, isn’t there?” 

 

“ _ Is _ there?” Issalinde looked at Tessa inscrutably, but she was past being so easily dissuaded. 

 

“We aren’t sure,” she said. “If this is some childish infatuation on Jessie’s part, or something darker. If she’s really betrayed us. And you wanted to find out, because you know, if it’s the latter… it’ll break Charlotte’s heart.” 

 

Will shrugged, but Tessa knew she was right by the set of his shoulders, the downturn of his lips. “So what if it does?” 

 

“You’re not an inhuman block of ice, Will. For all you try to hurt people.” That reminded her of something. “And why did you break Gabriel’s arm?” 

 

Will rolled his eyes. “It’s a sordid story.” 

 

“I doubt that.” 

 

“Fine, it’s a very dull one.” When Tessa showed no sign of dropping the subject, he laughed a little. “I was quite young, and Tatiana Lightwood - their sister, she’s our age. Just got married to a Blackthorn, she’s off on her honeymoon - fancied herself in love with me. She would follow me around and giggle and duck behind pillars to stare at me. Wrote a journal full of bad poetry about it, it was full of ‘Tatiana Herondale’ everywhere.” 

 

Tessa half-smiled. She had done something similar herself as a child, watching a neighbor boy from the windows of her aunt’s flat. “That sounds rather adorable.” 

 

“So at the Christmas party, I stood up and read the entire thing aloud to the guests.” 

 

_ “Will!”  _

 

“She rhymed ‘William’ with ‘billion’. It had to be stopped.” 

 

“You probably traumatized her,” said Tessa, rather nettled. “Did you at least apologize - no, of course you didn’t. That was cruel.” 

 

Will just shrugged. “So Gabriel challenged me to a fight. Thought it’d be easy, since I was ‘half a mundane’, as he put it. I broke his arm, and he’s never forgiven me.” 

 

Tessa frowned at him, compelled by a strange urge to march him off to wherever Tatiana was and  _ make  _ him apologize. But she didn’t get the chance to, because the carriage was pulling up to the Lightwood manor, and Will was opening the door, and it was time to be Jessamine again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can pry the Carriage Conversations out of my cold dead hands.
> 
> All comments and kudos are super appreciated :)


	12. Steal Into the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dubious consent warning for making out while both parties are drugged.

 

The manor, just outside of London proper, was heavily glamoured. It looked, at first glance, to be deserted, and Tessa had to take Will’s word that it was in fact what they were looking for. She wished, nervous, that she had her angel pendant. But with the already low cut of the dress, she couldn’t hide it, and Nate would definitely recognize it. 

 

Will reached up to ring the bell at the gate, a jarring sound. “I’ll be lurking in the shadows if you need me,” he said.  _ “Caelum denique,  _ angel.” 

 

She didn’t know the Latin, but the sarcastic curve of his lips said it was likely some dark joke. The ‘angel’ nickname hadn’t worn off, either, and she opened her mouth to say something about it. But Will was already gone. The gate was opening. 

 

A hooded figure, silently guarding the front doors, held out a hand. Its black cowl completely obscured its face, and it didn’t speak. Feeling as if she was in front of the ferryman at the gates of Hell, Tessa held out her invitation. 

 

The figure inclined its head. Under its hood, Tessa thought she saw a group of red eyes, clustered in the middle of its face like a spider. She looked away, and climbed the stairs, allowing it to open the door for her. 

 

She was in a narrow hallway. At the end was another closed door. 

 

Tessa felt the rush of irrational panic before she even realized what she was looking at. The door was painted with the ouroboros - the double serpent, the symbol of the Pandemonium Club. The sigil of the Dark Sisters, and every bleak memory associated with them. 

 

Irritated with herself, she sighed. It was just paint on a door. Just a party. Another event to spy at for the Institute, that was all. She’d read enough about grand parties, surely she could handle it. 

 

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t much like anything she’d read about. The room was grand, enormous, and swathed in an odd, shimmering fabric that covered most of the walls. Large french windows were open to catch the breeze, but they didn’t seem to be doing much - the room was stifling. And unsurprisingly so, as it was crowded with seemingly hundreds of people. 

 

The majority were human, or human-shaped, though she caught sight of a few vampires, a few ifrits, a group of women with odd-colored eyes and loose, flowing dresses. 

 

But in and among these guests darted figures. Tall, spindly, with long arms that brushed the ground. Figures like large dogs, with spiked backs. A group of small, misshapen creatures. And as well as that, automatons lined the walls, eerily still. 

 

Tessa fought not to flinch, only to lose that fight badly when someone’s hand touched her elbow. She nearly shrieked, turning quickly - and saw Nate, smiling down at her. 

 

“I thought you’d never make it, Jessie,” he said. 

 

Tessa fought to control her expression. Jessamine was so much shorter than she was that it was odd, to look up at her brother like this. It made her feel younger, reminded her of being a child, and that wasn’t something she needed. 

 

Nate was well-dressed, his suit pressed, his white gloves spotless. Faela rested on his shoulder, eyes bright, fur soft-looking and clean. He looked every inch the wealthy, pretty gentleman he had always wished he could be. Now, he frowned down at her. 

 

“Are you all right, dear? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” 

 

_ The ghost of the brother I cared about,  _ she thought, bitterly, but called up Jessamine’s smile. And Jessie  _ was  _ happy to see him, or as happy as Jessie ever got. There was a forced feeling to it, as if she knew it was expected of her, but something there was genuine. 

 

“I was worried you wouldn’t be here,” she said. 

 

“And miss a chance to see you?” He glanced around, smiling. “Lightwood should try to impress the Magister more often.” He held out a hand. “Would you favor me with a dance, Jessie dear?” 

 

She nodded, and followed him to the center of the room, where there was a dance floor, thanking her lucky stars that she’d had so much practice dancing with him in their kitchen. Now, even in another body, she found the familiar steps, the familiar pattern. Of course, he’d never looked down at her like this, almost tenderly. Dear god, what if he tried to kiss her? She hadn’t thought of that, but she suspected she’d break her cover in a disgusted panic if he did.  _ Please, please let him not try.  _

 

“I had dreadful trouble trying to get out of the Institute,” she said, to make excuses for her lateness. “Sophie almost found the invitation.” 

 

Nate looked down at her, sharply. “But she didn’t, did she?” 

 

Tessa tossed her head, letting Jessie guide the familiar motion. “Do you take me for a fool? Of course not. Besides, she probably can’t even read.”

 

“Truly,” said Nate, relaxing visibly. “They should find you a better maid. One befitting of you.” 

 

Unsure how to reply to this, Tessa just nodded. She looked around over Nate’s shoulder as they turned, taking in the room. 

 

Gideon was leaning on the wall, shoulders stiff, discomfort in every line of his body. Gabriel, though, had a glass of lemonade and was talking to one of the women in the loose, flowing dresses, eyes bright and curious. Her heart sank - so much for her hope that the younger Lightwoods weren’t involved in their father’s business. 

 

“God, I’m jealous of every man who looks at you,” said Nate. “You should be looked at only by me.” 

 

Tessa tried not to let her incredulous expression show. Did this line of talk really work on Jessamine? If Nate had asked her opinion on it, as he had used to do sometimes in New York, she would have told him he sounded like an idiot. 

 

“Really, Nate?” She said instead, trying to turn the conversation to something useful. “Sometimes I fear you value me only for the information I give you.” 

 

Nate looked down at her, shocked. “Jessie! You know I love you. It’s just until I can get favor back with the Magister, and then make enough money for our life together. You know that.” 

 

“Of course, it’s just that I get worried,” she breathed. “What if they find out?” 

 

“Oh, you said it yourself - they’re cowards,” said Nate. “They couldn’t bring themselves to do anything to you. You’re quite safe. Have you hidden the book?” 

 

_ What book?  _ “Of course,” she said. “Just as you asked me to.” Faela, still on Nate’s shoulder, was looking curiously at Chali. Tessa felt another momentary jolt of panic. Could Faela tell? Could daemons recognize each other, even like this? Faela had always known Chalivan when they were younger - but her brother was talking again, and he didn’t seem suspicious.

 

“That’s my Jessie. Under the hearth in her room?” 

 

“Of  _ course, _ Nate.” Jessamine pouted, and Tessa let her. Nate looked apologetic. 

 

“Sorry, bunny. I just needed to check.” He looked across the room, and sighed. “Benedict up to his old tricks, I see. Rather disgusting.” 

 

Tessa looked around. Benedict was sitting near the orchestra, reclining slightly on a red chaise longue. A woman sat quite scandalously on his lap - well, something in the shape of a woman. Two snakes protruded from her eye sockets, one of which flicked its tongue out and along the side of Benedict’s face. 

 

“That’s a demon,” said Tessa, rather stupidly. 

 

Nate laughed. “Of course it is.” 

 

She thought of Will’s words earlier.  _ What with the way he consorts with the unsavory, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a nasty case of demon pox.  _ “Oh, ugh.” 

 

“Indeed.” They spun another few turns to the music. To her horror, she realized Nate was leaning closer.  _ No, _ she thought, as if by force of will she could deter him.  _ No no no.  _ He was definitely going to kiss her. 

 

“Nate,” she spluttered. “I - I feel dizzy. It’s the heat. I think I need to sit down. Will you fetch me some lemonade?” 

 

There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes, but he couldn’t refuse - no gentleman would. With a nod, he led her to a chair on the side of the dance floor. She sank into it, grimacing the moment he turned his back. 

 

Book. What book? Hidden in  _ her  _ room - that only left herself, Charlotte, and Sophie. Or Bridget, she supposed, but that seemed unlikely. 

 

A soft voice spoke at her elbow. She jumped. 

 

“You look just like your mother, miss Tessa Gray.” 

 

The voice was a slender woman with pale blue skin, and long, unbound hair. Her daemon, to Tessa’s fascination, was a koi fish, swimming through the air and seemingly in no pain despite the lack of water. Then her words sank in. In a panic, Tessa put her hands to her face. Had she lost the Change? Surely not - but the blue woman only laughed. 

 

“I didn’t mean to make you fearful of your disguise. Some of my kind can see through such things, though yours is stronger than most. I have never seen a cloaking that gave me such trouble.” 

 

“Who are you?” 

 

“Oh, I don’t like to give my name. You can invent a lovely name for me if you like, though. Your mother used to call me Hyacinth.” 

 

“How did you know my mother? Do you know what I am?” 

 

“Do you know what  _ I  _ am?” 

 

She hesitated. “A faerie,” she said, finally. Hyacinth inclined her head. 

 

“And do you know what a changeling is?” 

 

Tessa nodded again. Even without the Codex, there were mundane stories about human children, stolen and replaced by sickly faerie babies. “Are you saying I’m a changeling?” 

 

Hyacinth giggled, showing sharp, needle-like teeth. “What a silly thought! No, miss Tessa Gray. I am not saying that.” Then she glanced up, smiled one odd smile, and vanished just as Nate reappeared. 

 

“Fizzy lemonade,” he said, offering Tessa a fluted glass. She took it gratefully, sipping from it. Sweet and cold, and delicious despite everything. Not worth losing track of Hyacinth. But delicious. 

 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “As you were saying, though? I did hide the book, just as you said, but remind me again.” 

 

Nate sighed. “An Enclave member will find the book in Tessa’s room. She’ll be charged and taken to the Silent City, Benedict will remove her from there, and she will be brought to the Magister. You know this.” 

 

“Of course,” said Tessa. “Silly of me.” She hid behind the rim of the glass. “Do you know what he plans to do with her?” 

 

“I told you, I don’t know and I don’t care. My plans are for our future together. I’d hope you are as dedicated?” 

 

_ I don’t know and I don’t care.  _ The sharpness of his words pulled at her. “I’m doing the best I can, Nate,” she said, pouting, and had the satisfaction of seeing another flash of annoyance cross his face before he hid it. 

 

“Of course, darling. Are you feeling better? Perhaps another dance?” While Tessa was trying to think of a way to avoid it, Nate leaned in and smiled. “Though, they do say a gentleman should only dance the first set or two with his wife.” 

 

Tessa froze. She knew she was expected to answer, but words were having a difficult time getting to her mouth from her mind.  _ Nate and Jessamine were married.  _ Married. Married? 

 

“Are you all right?” 

 

Before she could force some sort of words past her shock, an automaton approached Nate. “A message,” it said, flatly. He looked at it in surprise before unfolding the paper.

 

“A note from himself,” he said. “I’m needed. Damn. A dreadful bore, but what can you do?” He kissed her on the cheek, lifting her to her feet. “Ask Benedict, he’ll make sure you’re escorted back to your carriage. Until next time, Mrs. Gray.” 

 

Tessa flinched. But he had gone, and so she collapsed back into the chair. It must be the shock, she thought, but everything was beginning to look… peculiar. Not out of focus, but as if she could see every bit of light reflecting off the windows and chandelier. The effect was beautiful. 

 

“Tessa.” It was Will, appearing beside her. He looked like something out of a painting. “Good, he got the note. You looked like you could use the intervention.” He took the lemonade from her hand before she could drop it, and drained the last of it before setting it aside. “We should probably get out of here, though, before he figures it out.” 

 

“They’re married,” said Tessa numbly. Will raised an eyebrow, and then both, and then his eyes widened. She was very aware of the light reflected in them. 

 

“Tess,” he said, urgently. “Tess, are you all right?” 

 

“What? Yes, why?” 

 

He picked up a curl of her hair -  _ her  _ hair, not Jessamine’s, slowly darkening. She felt it now, the odd skin-prickling sensation of Changing. But why? 

 

“How long -” 

 

“You were Jessamine when I sat down. Come on.” He took her by the hand, pulling her towards a balcony. Tessa had never tried to walk while Changing before - it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.  _ Don’t let me faint. Please, don’t let me faint,  _ she repeated, as she stumbled on feet that weren’t hers. Or, that were hers. Shoes that weren’t hers? She couldn’t tell. 

 

They were on the balcony, now. Will slammed the doors behind them as Tessa leaned on the stone railing, finding its solidity inexplicably reassuring. She coughed, but the odd sensations of the Change were gone. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know what happened. It must have been the shock of it all.” 

 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Will. He stumbled, a little, and looked down at his feet as if they’d betrayed him. He glanced at Issalinde as if she’d gotten in the way, but she was merely watching from the railing. 

 

“I miss him,” she mused. “Even though I know what he is. I miss who I thought he was - he was my family.” 

 

“The Institute is your family, too,” said Will. Chali cocked his head, still wearing Jascuro’s skin, as Tessa blushed. 

 

“We should go,” she said. “We have only a little time before he comes back.” She took a step forward, and the world tilted a little, sending her stumbling. Will caught her, but then stumbled with her momentum himself. 

 

“Damn,” he muttered. “Lemonade.” 

 

Tessa blinked at him. It was nice, in his arms, she thought. Warm but not smothering. She could almost forget how cruel he could be. “What?” 

 

“Tess, look at me. I need to see your eyes.” 

 

Obediently, she raised her eyes to his, expecting anger or coldness. Instead, they seemed soft. Affectionate, almost. Not so full of conflict as usual. It made her smile, as Will began, for whatever reason, to pull the pins from her hair. Even that was pleasant - it eased her headache. 

 

They were very close together. Whatever Will was looking for in her eyes, he didn’t seem to have found. Or else he had forgotten to look, because he was now simply staring, a somewhat ridiculous expression on his face. It was painfully, beautifully endearing. She caressed his cheek, and when he didn’t pull away, she leaned in to kiss him. 

 

Things were a little hazy after that. One moment, she was pressed all against him, the next her fingers were in his hair, the next his hands were on her hips and pulling her in still closer, the next they were pressed up against the railing of the balcony and Will’s shirt buttons were undone and her bodice was half-laced.  

 

_ And so we’ve come full circle,  _ she thought, seeing the slight shadow of a bruise on Will’s collarbone that she knew without question Jem had put there. She mouthed at it, curiously, and smiled into Will’s skin when he groaned. They were the same height, she noticed, with her own body and Jessamine’s heeled shoes. 

 

“I want to ask you,” she said, along the skin of his neck next to his ear. “I have to know -” 

 

“Anything,” he said. Issalinde bit at his ankles, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Anything -” 

 

But he didn’t get to finish his thought, and Tessa didn’t get to ask her question. “So  _ there  _ you two are,” said a voice from the doorway. “Quite the show you’re putting on, if I do say so.” 

 

They jumped apart. There, in the doorway - though Tessa didn’t remember hearing the doors open - was Magnus. He had one eyebrow raised, and was dressed all in black, save for ten rings on his hands, each a differently-colored gemstone. Casimir perched on his shoulder, small enough to not draw attention, scales a brilliant ruby.

 

“Let me guess,” he went on. “You had the lemonade, didn’t you?” 

 

They glanced at each other. Tessa finally spoke. “I - yes. Nate brought me some.”

 

“It’s got some quite potent powders mixed into it. Lowers the inhibitions, makes you do things you would, ah, not otherwise do. I suspect you figured that out for yourselves.” 

 

“Oh,” said Will. Tessa’s face was beginning to burn. Chali ruffled his feathers uncomfortably,  then turned into a small mouse and hid under her hair, as he was wont to do when things were particularly humiliating.

 

“Gracious, that’s a lot of bosom you’re showing,” Magnus went on, as if he were commenting on the weather.  _ “Tout le monde sur le balcon.  _ Quite fitting, as we are in fact on a balcony.” 

 

“Oh, let her alone,” said Will, face scarlet. Tessa had never seen him blush quite so much. “We didn’t know.” 

 

(Tessa crossed her arms, realized this only intensified the problem, and uncrossed them with an irritated sigh.) 

 

“How did you know we were here, anyway?” Will went on. 

 

“One of Camille’s subjugates was here and recognized you from your last ill-fated excursion, William. He got a message to me, but I think it’s time you two made yourselves scarce.” 

 

“And why do you care if we get out or not?” 

 

Magnus snorted. “You owe me,” he said. “I intend to collect.” At this, Tessa glanced at Will, but he had turned his face away. “Don’t look like that. You can choose your friends, but not your unlikely saviors. Shall we go, then? Or would you rather stay here and take your chances?” 

 

Will scowled, but Issalinde jumped from the railing to his shoulder, digging in with her claws. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

 

Magnus snapped his fingers, made a rain of blue sparks, and then they were on the ground. Tessa gaped at him, once she had found her footing on the (suddenly quite different) grass. Could  _ she  _ learn to do that? Was it something any warlock could do? Was she even a warlock? Would Magnus teach her? 

 

Will, meanwhile, just scoffed. “Magic,” he muttered disdainfully. 

 

“And what do you think your runes are, Nephilim?” 

 

“Oh, hush,” said Tessa. “Let’s go before someone -” 

 

Too late. A group of demons had rounded the corner of the house. One was a shambling, corpse-like thing with dark holes where its eyes should be, while another was twice the size of a man, with blue skin and a barbed tail. Another was what seemed to be all wet red mouths. 

 

Several things happened in a very short time. 

 

Tessa jumped backwards, kicking off her shoes. Should she run? Stay and fight? She had no weapons. 

 

Magnus raised his hand, blue fire circling it, muttering words under his breath. He looked irritated, but not terribly out of sorts. But then, he never did. 

 

And then Will, who Tessa had expected to reach for a seraph blade, did something utterly unexpected. He raised a shaking finger, pointed at the blue-skinned demon, and said,  _ “You.”  _

 

The demon blinked, while its companions looked at each other. There must have been some agreement in place, to keep them from harming humans at the party, but Tessa didn’t like the way the mouths were licking their lips. “Ah,” said the demon, in a voice that, while rough, seemed ordinary. “I don’t recall - that is, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance.” 

 

_ “Liar!”  _ Will staggered forward, got his feet under him despite his unsteadiness from the drugged lemonade, and threw himself onto the blue demon, Issalinde yowling furiously. Magnus was staring with his mouth open, not moving to help. In another second, the demon had dashed away, Will in hot pursuit. 

 

Tessa started after them, but the other two demons were buzzing angrily at Magnus, who shrugged and held out his hands as if to placate them. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Disagreement. Gambling debt. It happens.” Another tendril of blue flame sputtered upwards from his palm. “I suggest you not concern yourselves overmuch with it, gentlemen.” 

 

That convinced them. Magnus put a hand on Tessa’s elbow - fortunately, not the one that was on fire - and jerked his head towards the carriage. 

 

She shook her head. “But Will -” 

 

“Will will find his own way back,” he said. “He has unfinished business to settle, and I will check up on him once I know you’re back to safety. Besides, you can’t hope to catch up to him now.” 

 

His tone brooked no argument. Tessa wanted to argue anyway. “You could magic us to him -” 

 

“I could. But I won’t. He will be fine, Miss Gray. He’s been waiting for this moment for a long time.” 

 

Magnus gave no other explanation, no matter how she questioned him. Finally, Tessa shook her head, picked up Jessamine’s shoes, and set off barefoot towards the carriage, Magnus at her side. 

  
  
  



	13. There, Hovering, Broods

It was only with great self-control that Tessa kept herself from begging Magnus to come in and help break the news to Charlotte. She was dreading it, all the more for having to face it alone. But Magnus saw her hesitation anyway. 

 

“No, my dear,” he said, though his face was not unsympathetic. “Nephilim dramas are not my concern. And ironically enough, I have to go and make sure Will hasn’t chased that thing across the Channel by now.” 

 

Tessa squared her shoulders, gave him her best disdainful look for his lack of help - though she doubted its potency, since she was still a little lemonade-addled and her dress was choking her - and went into the Institute. 

 

Jessamine was starting to stir, tossing and turning on her bed. Sophie was seated in a chair by the wardrobe, clutching a hairbrush (perhaps to hit her with again?), eyes huge. She jumped when Tessa walked in. “Tessa? What’s happened?” 

 

“We need to wake Charlotte,” she said, wearily. “We don’t have a choice anymore.” 

 

“But -” 

 

As quickly as she could, Tessa explained what had happened. What she had seen, what she had learned from Nate. “This is beyond us now.” 

 

Sophie didn’t argue it further. She nodded, and left the room, leaving Tessa to watch Jessie’s restless form. 

 

The corset was horrendously uncomfortable. Tessa considered trying to change out of it before Jessamine awoke, but she doubted there would be time, and besides, she had more to worry about. She made do with ripping a few of the laces free - the dress was unsalvageable anyway. Chali helped, becoming a sharp-toothed rat to gnaw through the fabric. 

 

Tessa was so preoccupied with this that she didn’t notice the exact moment Jessamine awoke. But she did notice when she rolled over, opened one eye, and said, “Tessa?” 

 

Tessa froze. “Jessie. Are you -” 

 

“What  _ happened?” _ Her head rolled to one side. “I don’t remember…” she tried to sit up, and yelped, finding her hands bound. “Tessa! Why -” Jascuro fluttered around in a panic, looking for some way to free her. Tessa’s heart ached, despite everything. 

 

“It’s for your own good,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “Charlotte has questions for you, you have to answer them -” 

 

“The party.” She winced. “Don’t you know how rude it is to read someone’s correspondence?” Her fingers scrabbled at the ropes, but couldn’t find purchase. “Besides, there’s no proof of anything.” 

 

“Yes,” said Tessa, “There is. I went to the party, and I spoke with my brother.” 

 

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, Jascuro dived at Chali, a furious cry in his throat. Chali winced, shifting back into his own form and darting out of reach. 

 

“What did you say to him? What did you do?” There was a distinctly frantic note to Jessamine’s voice now. 

 

“He made it clear that you’ve been spying for him,” Tessa said, wishing Charlotte and Sophie would arrive. She wanted to hide from this conversation, wanted to sleep for hours, wanted to make sure Will was all right - she wanted nothing to do with this room, this moment. “You’ve betrayed us.”

 

“Us?” Jessamine struggled as far upright as the ropes would let her. “You’re not one of them! You don’t owe them anything! They don’t care about you any more than they care about me, only Nate cares about me -” 

 

“My brother,” said Tessa, and her voice was definitely shaking now, “is a liar and a murderer. He does not love you. He’ll abandon you, if he doesn’t kill you first.” 

 

“Liar,” panted Jessamine, her chest rising and falling frantically. “You don’t understand him, you never did! He told me!” 

 

“I saw it in his eyes when he looked at you.” Tessa knew this was still whatever drug she had taken, keeping her removed from common sense and anything that might have softened her words, but she couldn’t seem to stop.  _ “I saw how he looks at you, Jessie.  _ He cares  _ nothing  _ for you. For you it’s all play, isn’t it?” 

 

Jessamine bared her teeth. She looked enough like a trapped, cornered animal that Tessa’s neck prickled, but still the words came, the hurt fury at the betrayal, both Jessamine’s and her brother’s, driving her forward. “Like those dolls in your dollhouse. Move them about, make them kiss and marry. You wanted a mundane husband, and Nate was good enough. You can’t see what it’s cost the people who cared for you.” 

 

“I love Nate,” said Jessamine, and there was a calmness in her voice now that was still more threatening than her hysterics. “And he loves me. So what if Mortmain wants to destroy the Nephilim? I say let them burn.” 

 

Tessa gaped at her, and the door flew open. 

 

Charlotte stood there, drawn and exhausted, pain in her eyes, straight-backed and as immovable as the angels she was descended from. 

 

* * *

 

Magnus found no trace of Will on the grounds of Benedict’s manor. A bit of worry over Will’s well-being needled at him, to his annoyance. He really,  _ truly  _ needed to stop concerning himself with Nephilim. 

 

His annoyance only increased when a quick tracking spell found Will at Camille’s townhouse. It was quick work to get back home - well, “home” was perhaps too generous, as Camille still hadn’t returned and he doubted that she would - and when he arrived, Will was pacing the drawing room, a manic energy in his eyes. Issalinde was on the divan, her tail twitching back and forth. 

 

“Magnus!” He said, the moment the door closed behind him. “You won’t believe -” 

 

“Shhh,” said Magnus. He wandered over to a bookshelf, finding one of his favorite volumes and a particularly accurate few stanzas. 

 

_ “I am tired of tears and laughter _ _   
_ _ And men that laugh and weep  
_ _ Of what may come hereafter  
_ _ For men that sow to reap:   
_ _ I am weary of days and hours,   
_ _ Blown buds of barren flowers,   
_ _ Desires, and dreams, and powers,   
_ __ And everything but sleep.” 

 

“Swinburne,” said Will, and Magnus remembered that he likely had one of the Memnosyne runes somewhere. “Sentimental and overrated.” 

 

“Perhaps to you. You don’t know what it is to be immortal.” He replaced the book, carefully. “All right. What is it?” 

 

Will pulled up his sleeve. Magnus raised an eyebrow to cover his surprise - his forearm was bloody with a deep gash. Blood dripped from his fingers to the floor. Embedded in the gash, like a crystal on a cave wall, was one white fang.  

 

“Demon tooth.” Will was short of breath, grimacing. “Burns. Do you think it’s poisonous?” 

 

“Yes? Quite probably,” said Magnus, his shocked incredulity making its way into his voice. He couldn’t help it, this time. Will shrugged and yanked it out of his arm, causing even more blood to well up and spill over onto the floor. Magnus sighed. “Camille’s carpet -” 

 

“It’s blood. She should be thrilled.” Will was now waving his injured arm around as if to shake any poison from it, which was undoubtedly not medically sound. He was still panting. “But you can use it, can’t you? To summon the demon again?” 

 

“Yes, Will, I can.” Magnus despaired of this idiot Nephilim, sometimes. “But you’re bleeding quite a bit. Don’t you have a stele somewhere? A healing rune?” 

 

“I don’t care about healing runes, I care about this.” He dropped the bloody tooth into Magnus’ hand. Magnus looked down at it in mild distaste, warring with amusement. Casimir, the traitor, trilled with laughter. Magnus was going to have words with him about maintaining his aloof image. “Please. Find the demon for me. I know you can.” 

 

“I can, but not tonight. It will take some days. Be patient.” 

 

Will took a ragged breath, as if to tell him off. Then he staggered, and Issalinde darted forward, mewling painfully. He caught himself on the mantel, but the color was draining from his face, only to return, then leave again. Sweat soaked his collar.

 

“Will,” started Magnus, but he had already slid forward, eyes rolling up. “What’s - Oh, hell.” 

 

Despite everything, Magnus caught Will before he could hit the carpet, and, hoisting him up in his arms, carried him gently over to the sofa. Casimir became a lion, and lifted Issalinde’s limp form in his mouth as if she was a kitten, depositing her on Will’s chest. She lay there, curled into a small lump of fur. 

 

With one more heavy sigh, Magnus began to tend to the poison in Will’s blood. It was going to be a long night. 

 

* * *

 

Charlotte wasn’t alone. Behind her was Brother Enoch, eerie as ever with his hood pulled over his face, his lack of a daemon, his scarred hands. He held a sword, a sword that reflected the light so brightly that Tessa wanted to look away. Sophie followed behind them both, jaw set. 

 

“Let us burn?” asked Charlotte, quiet. Raimond was very still by her side, as if waiting to spring into motion, or as if trying to hide a tremor. 

 

Jessamine’s eyes were fixed on the blade in Brother Enoch’s hand. She flinched away when he approached, but it was only to cut the ropes around her wrists with a different small knife. 

 

Charlotte nodded to him. “The Mortal Sword, please, Brother Enoch.” 

 

The Silent Brother stepped forward, sword leveled at Jessamine. Tessa stared, horrified, and Chali flew to put himself in front of Jascuro, without thinking. “Charlotte -” Was she going to  _ torture  _ her, in front of them all? 

 

“Put out your hands, Jessamine.” 

 

“Charlotte, no, don’t hurt her -” 

 

Raimond snapped his jaws, close to Chali’s wings. Chali did not move. Finally, Charlotte turned to Tessa. “It will not harm her. It will force her to speak the truth. Now _ put out your hands.”  _

 

Tessa felt sick, but Chali returned to her side. Jessie held out her hands, shaking, and Brother Enoch laid the flat of the blade along them. She tried to pull away, but her palms seemed trapped there, stuck to the bottom of the Sword. Finally, she gave up, and drooped, like a broken doll. Jascuro did not move. 

 

Charlotte held up the invitation. “Is this yours?” 

 

“Y- yes.” It seemed pulled from Jessamine, against her will. 

 

“How long have you been meeting Nathaniel Gray?” 

 

“H-He sent me a letter a few days after the attack on the Institute. I wanted to ignore him, but he sent more and more. Told me he was struck by my beauty. That he forgave me for hurting him in the battle. I agreed to meet him. He said he was only working for Mortmain until he had enough money for us to live comfortably. I told him I had money, but he said he would not live off his wife, is that not noble?” 

 

“He proposed to you?” 

 

“The third time we met,” she said. “He said he knew there would never be another woman for him. He promised that once he had enough money, I would have the life I wanted, that we would never worry, that we could live in a townhouse and there would be children -” 

 

“Oh, Jessie.” Charlotte sounded almost sad. 

 

“It was true! He loves me! He has more than proved it!” She tried once again to pull away from the blade of the Mortal Sword. It didn’t budge, though her face grew flushed with the effort. “I am Jessamine Gray!” 

 

“You are a traitor. What else did you tell him?” 

 

“Everything,” Jessamine gasped. 

 

“Where is he? Where is Mortmain?” 

 

Her face was dark red now, her pupils wide. Short breaths rattled in her chest. “I -” 

 

_ “Where is Mortmain, Jessamine?”  _

 

She shook her head, wildly twisting. “I - I can’t.” 

 

“Nate wouldn’t have told her,” said Tessa, quietly. For all of it, after everything, she still didn’t want to see Jessamine in pain. She was furious, but she remembered that horrible, desperate longing in Jessie’s mind. That hope for some other life. “He’d assume she’d break under torture.  _ He  _ would.” 

 

Jessamine glared across at her. “He despises you,” she panted. “All his life, you and your aunt looked down on him. Do you know what he calls you?” 

 

“I don’t care,” Tessa lied. “Did he say what I am? Why I have this power?” 

 

“Your father was a demon,” said Jessamine. “And your mother was Nephilim.”

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then Tessa looked to Charlotte, feeling lost. She shook her head. 

 

“He lied to you, Jessie,” Charlotte said. “The offspring of Nephilim and demons are stillborn. They cannot bear the Marks on the mother’s body, it kills both mother and child.” 

 

“Nate would never lie to me -” 

 

“If Tessa’s mother is Nephilim, then so is Nate. The blood of the Angel breeds true. Did he ever mention  _ that  _ to you?” 

 

Jessamine’s face was still red, shining with sweat.  _ “Nate _ isn’t one of you!” 

 

“It’s one or the other.” Raimond was still standing, perfectly, dangerously motionless, at Charlotte’s side. “Either you married a Nephilim - a truly supreme irony - or you married a liar who used and discarded you. He must have known you would be caught eventually. And what would happen to you then?” 

 

“He said you were weak,” said Jessamine. Jascuro made an odd whimpering noise. “That you couldn’t bring yourself to harm me.” 

 

“He was wrong,” said Charlotte, all steel and ice. “So you will tell us. Where is Mortmain?” 

 

Jessamine shuddered. “N- no.” 

 

_ “Where is he?”  _ __   
  


“He - he -” She was clutching the sword, now, clutching it hard enough that blood welled up around her fingers. Her face was purple. “Idris,” she gasped at last. 

 

Charlotte jolted.  _ “Idris?  _ He’s in our homeland?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“How can he be in Idris, yet not be?” 

 

Jessamine only shook her head, gasping in air. Brother Enoch stepped forward, in his odd gliding way.  _ There is a block in her mind,  _ he said, without speaking.  _ We cannot continue to question her in this way, or her heart may well fail her. Let me take her to the Silent City. We have ways of seeking the secrets locked in a mind.  _

 

He withdrew the sword, but Jessamine didn’t even seem to notice. She was looking at Charlotte, eyes pleading. “No,” she gasped. “Don’t send me there. Where the dead lie, I cannot bear it -” 

 

“Then tell us where Mortmain is.” 

 

Jessamine began to cry. Brother Enoch lifted her in his arms and carried her, none too gently, out of the room, where her sobs echoed through the door before promptly cutting off. Tessa looked at Charlotte, eyes wide. 

 

“She’s all right,” Charlotte said. “He likely put a rune of Quietude on her. There is nothing to worry about.” She sat down on the edge of Jessamine’s bed, looking down at her hands as if she didn’t quite believe they belonged to her. Raimond broke his stillness, laying his head on her leg and whining. “Henry…” 

 

“Shall I wake him for you?” Sophie’s tone was gentle. Charlotte’s, in turn, was dead. 

 

“He’s in the crypt, working. I couldn’t bear to get him. Jessamine - she’s been with us since she was a little girl. He doesn’t have it in him to be cruel.” 

 

“Charlotte.” Tessa touched her arm, carefully. “You aren’t cruel, either.” 

 

“I do what I must. There is nothing to worry about,” Charlotte said again, and burst into tears. 

 

* * *

 

The door opened softly. So softly that Magnus almost missed it, as he dozed in the armchair. Will had the spot on the sofa where Magnus usually slept, his forearm bandaged to the elbow, his cheeks flushed, sleeping the sleep of the drugged and healing. Issalinde was still curled into a ball on his chest. The tooth was on the side table beside him. 

 

Behind him, the door to the drawing room was open. And there, framed in the archway, was Camille. 

 

She wore a velvet traveling cloak over a brilliant green dress. Her hair was dressed high on her head with emerald combs, Theora perched on one of them. She was, all in all, extraordinarily beautiful. 

 

“Magnus,” she said. “Did you miss me?” 

 

“I didn’t realize you’d be favoring me with your presence tonight.” 

 

“Clearly,” she said, with a glance at Will. “Will Herondale. He is lovely, isn’t he? Is he an amusement of yours?”

 

Magnus didn’t dignify that with an answer. He crossed his legs in front of him, looking up into her face. “Where have you been?” 

 

Camille was leaning over Will. “Can I kiss him?” 

 

“No,” said Magnus. “Where have you been, Camille? I waited here for weeks. Months. You might at least tell me.” 

 

She straightened, rolling her eyes. “Very well. I was in Paris. A much-needed holiday from this mess of London.” 

 

Casimir snorted. “You’re lying,” he said, without waiting for Magnus to say it himself.  

 

“Then why ask if you already knew?” said Camille, with a quiet little laugh. 

 

“I was worried about you,” said Magnus. “Informants in St. Petersburg, looking out for anyone from Alexei’s clan. They told me you were living there with a human lover.” 

 

“And that made you jealous?” 

 

“Did you want me to be?” 

 

_ “Ca m’est egal,”  _ she said, half a smile on her face. “She had nothing to do with you. She was a diversion while I was in Russia, nothing more.” 

 

“And now?” 

 

“She is dead. So she hardly represents competition for you. You must let me have my little diversions, Magnus.” 

 

Magnus hid his temper behind another raised eyebrow, a hand on Casimir’s scales. “Otherwise?” 

 

“Otherwise I shall become extremely cross.” 

 

“As you became cross with your human lover and murdered her?” No, that was too much venom in his voice. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. “What of pity? Compassion? Love? Or do you not feel that emotion?” His voice broke. 

 

“I  _ love,”  _ said Camille, indignant. “You and I, who endure forever, we love in such a manner as they don’t understand. A dark constant flame. What do they matter to you? Fidelity is a human concept, based upon the idea that we are here only for a short time. You cannot demand my faithfulness for  _ eternity.”  _

 

“How foolish of me,” said Magnus. “I thought I could.”  _ You made me believe I could.  _ “I thought I could at least expect you not to lie to me.” 

 

“You are being ridiculous,” she said. “You expect me to have the morals of something I am not. You are devoted to me - you said that yourself. Your devotion will simply have to suffer my diversions. If not, I shall drop you. I cannot imagine you want  _ that.”  _

 

There was a little sneer in her voice that curled up in his heart. He flinched, thinking miserably that it was a terrible thing, to love more than you were loved and not to know it. He remembered the sick feeling in his throat when the letter had come from Saint Petersburg, and how he had waited for her return, hoping she had an explanation. That she would apologize. Ask him to love her again. Now he realized that he wasn’t worth that to her. 

 

Magnus thought this through quickly. He considered storming out, but there was the issue of Will. 

 

Will. Magnus was cognizant that it was a terrible, petty idea that was likely to fail, but it was tempting, something to soothe the hurt with the idea of taunting Camille. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have Will now.” 

 

Her mouth opened. “A  _ Nephilim? _ You can’t actually be serious.” 

 

“You may be immortal, but your feelings are vapid and shallow. Will’s are not. He understands what it is to love.” Having delivered this insane speech with great dignity - and too far in now to back out - Magnus crossed the room and shook Will’s shoulder. “Will - William. Wake up.” 

 

Will’s hazy blue eyes opened. He was lying on his back, looking up, so the first thing he saw was Camille’s face as she bent over the sofa and stared at him. He jerked upright with a yelp. 

 

“Oh, shush,” said Camille, smiling enough to show teeth. “I won’t hurt you, dear.” Theora moved just a step closer. 

 

Magnus hauled Will to his feet. “The lady of the house has returned.” 

 

“I see that.” Will was still flushed, still unsteady. “Delightful,” he said to no one in particular. Magnus wasn’t sure if he meant he was delighted to see Camille, delighted with the effects of the painkilling spell Magnus had worked on him (always a possibility) or merely rambling. 

 

“And therefore, we must go.” 

 

“Go where?” 

 

“Don’t worry about that, my love.” 

 

Will blinked at him. “Pardon?” Magnus squeezed his arm with a meaning pressure, hoping Will would remember that he was indebted to him. “I - where’s my coat, then?” 

 

“Ruined with blood,” said Magnus. This, at least, was true. He nodded towards Camille. “Will’s been out hunting demons all night. So brave.” 

 

“I  _ am  _ brave,” agreed Will. Issalinde snorted, but he only looked pleased with himself. 

 

“Yes, you are,” said Magnus, and kissed him quickly. It wasn’t very dramatic, but Will flapped his hand as if to ward off a bee that had landed on him. Magnus had to hope Camille would assume this was passion. “Now,” he said, when he drew away. “We really must go.” 

 

“I - but - the tooth!” He dashed across the room, retrieved it, and tucked it into Magnus’ waistcoat pocket. Then, with a wink at Camille that god only knew how she’d interpret, Will sauntered out of the room. 

 

Camille looked as if she was unsure whether to laugh or shout. He realized, all of a sudden, that Camille preferred the position of power. She wanted Magnus to pine after her, and so his plan had, in fact, worked, by proving that he was not as infatuated with her as he truly was.

 

Well. Excellent, then. 

 

“Carrying on with Nephilim behind my back,” she huffed. Apparently, she didn’t see the hypocrisy, or chose not to. “Really, Magnus.” She pointed towards the door. “Please leave my residence. I trust I will not have to ask you twice.” 

 

Magnus was only too pleased to do so. A few moments later, he had joined Will on the pavement outside the house, shrugging on his coat - all he now owned in the world, besides whatever was in his pockets. This happened to him at least every few decades, but starting over from the ground was always inconvenient. He gave himself a few seconds to sulk about this. 

 

“Did you just  _ kiss  _ me?” said Will, interrupting the sulk. 

 

Magnus made a very fast decision. “No.” 

 

“I thought…” 

 

“On occasion, the painkilling spells can result in hallucinations of the most bizarre sort.” 

 

“Oh,” Will said. “How peculiar.” He looked back up at Camille’s townhouse. “What will you do now? About summoning the demon?” 

 

Magnus said a silent prayer of thanks for Will Herondale’s single-minded fixation on demon summoning. “I have a friend I can take up with for a while. Now go back to the Institute. I’ll get to work on your ridiculous demon tooth as soon as I can. I’ll be in touch.” 

 

Will nodded slowly, then looked up at the black sky. “The stars are bright,” he said. “I’ve never seen them that bright. The wind blew off the fog, I suppose.” 

 

Magnus thought of the joy on Will’s face as he stood bleeding in Camille’s drawing room, clutching a poisonous tooth and waving his arm around. Somehow, he didn’t think it was the stars that had changed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Charlotte. 
> 
> Also, I'm still amazed that no, it wasn't something I made up - Magnus' actual plan of action in that situation was Kiss Will and Abscond With Him And Then Pretend He Was Hallucinating. Nice one, Magnus. 
> 
> I had to stare at "Ca m'est egal" for at least five minutes before it looked right. I've spoken french fluently since I was three years old, it's not my fault I can't read. and the actual pronunciation sounds nothing like that looks. 
> 
> All of you french vampires with your Literacy. Shoo.


	14. A Soul has Sold Itself

“Jessamine,” said Henry again. He stared down at Aisling, who was seated on his knee with her head down. “Our Jessamine.”

 

Charlotte’s mouth grew a little tighter. “Yes,” she said. “Jessamine. Must I say it again?”

 

Henry blinked at her. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s just -” He shook his head. “I knew she was unhappy here. But I didn’t think she hated us.”

 

“I don’t think she did. Or does.” This was Jem, who was standing near the fire. They hadn’t gathered for breakfast as usual - Tessa suspected that Charlotte hadn’t been able to bear the idea of going on with Jessie’s place empty as if nothing had happened at all.

 

The night before, she had wept for only a short time, before raising her head and marching off to Tessa’s room to retrieve the book in question. She refused to answer any questions - about the book, or about her own state - and had vanished into her study until morning.

 

Tessa had put on the yellow dress - the one Jessamine had bought her - and was sitting in an armchair, feeling worn down. Jem still hadn’t looked at her, and she and Will had been drugged, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and actually _talk_ to the both of them about whatever was between them all. But there was no time for that.

 

“I don’t think she hates us,” said Jem now. “She’s always been desperate for a way out. I think she saw it and took it, that’s all.” Despite the lightness of his tone, Mela was wearily laying at his feet, and his eyes were shadowed. He hadn’t recovered, not all the way.

 

“It’s my fault,” said Charlotte quietly. “I shouldn’t have tried to force being Nephilim upon her when it was something she clearly didn’t want.”

 

“No, no,” said Henry. “You were never anything but kind to her. There are some mechanisms that are so - so broken they can’t be repaired.”

 

“Jessamine is not a watch, Henry.” Charlotte’s voice was remote and empty. Tessa wondered if she was still angry that he hadn’t met with Woolsey Scott. More likely she was just angry at the world. Raimond remained unnaturally still, as unexpressive as he could be. “Perhaps I should just parcel up the Institute with a bow and give it to Benedict Lightwood. This is the second time we’ve had a spy under our noses and not known about it until significant damage was done.”

 

“If he’s working for Mortmain,” said Tessa, “he obviously can’t be given the Institute. The party alone should be enough.”

 

“The difficulty is proving it,” said Jem. He looked at her, then, but not for long, and not with any readable emotion. “He’ll deny everything, and it’ll be your word against his.”

 

“There’s Will,” said Charlotte. She frowned. “Where _is_ Will?”

 

Jem shrugged evasively. “As for him being a witness, would they believe him? They think he’s a lunatic as is -”

 

Will stuck his head through the doorway. “Ah,” he said. “The annual ‘everyone-thinks-Will-is-a-lunatic’ meeting.”

 

“It’s biannual,” said Jem, his mouth quirking up. “And no, this is not that meeting.” He plainly knew that Will had been eavesdropping - but why not just come into the room? Will looked pale and tired, but not as tired as she would have thought. There was an odd suppressed happiness about him that she couldn’t identify. Well. Tessa was pleased that Jem was no longer angry with Will, even if things between herself and Jem were - wait, had Will told Jem? Had that made things better or worse?

 

Chali groaned quietly, shifting into a little raccoon just so he could have hands to bury his face in. “Stop it,” he said, not seeming to care who heard him. Charlotte gave Tessa a worried look, but she waved it off, face red. Will smirked at her from the doorway, and she was suddenly struck with the irrational concern that he’d blurt out what they’d done on the balcony to Charlotte and Henry.

 

“They know about Jessamine,” she said, before he could have the chance to say anything. “She was questioned with the Mortal Sword and taken to the Silent City, and now we’re talking about what’s going to happen next and it’s very important and Charlotte’s very upset.”

 

Charlotte looked at her in some puzzlement.

 

“Well, you _are_ ,” Tessa said. “And you were asking for Will -”

 

“And here I am,” said Will, sitting down. One of his arms had been bandaged, she noticed. How had he gotten home last night? Had Magnus done it? What did he owe to Magnus, anyway? But Will was talking now. “Well, what are we going to do? We could report Benedict to the Clave, but that would let Mortmain know that we’ve been spying on him. Probably not the best idea unless we haven’t anything else by the time our deadline hits.”

 

“We could keep gathering information,” said Charlotte, seemingly thinking aloud. “And Nate and Benedict don’t know that she’s been found. We could leak false information to them and lure Mortmain out.”

 

“He’s too clever,” said Jem. “He’d never fall for it, he’d send Nate instead, and we’d lose the advantage.”

 

“We could capture Nate,” suggested Will. “Pretend to be Jessamine, arrange for a meeting, swoop down upon him. Tessa can reprise her role as a Traitorous Young Lady of Fashion.”

 

“That’s dangerous,” said Jem.

 

“If Tessa agrees,” said Charlotte, “it might still be a viable option. He certainly knows more about this than Jessamine does.”

 

Will nodded. “The Brothers can torture him until he gives up the information we need.”

 

“Torture?” Said Jem. “This is Tessa’s brother -”

 

“Torture him,” said Tessa, flatly. “I give you my permission.”

 

Charlotte looked at her in shock. “You can’t mean that.”

 

Chali gave a sad little noise, but settled himself on Tessa’s lap as a comforting weight. “You said, a long time ago, there was a way to dig through his mind for secrets. I asked you not to, so you didn’t, but I won’t hold you to that promise. Do whatever it takes.”

 

There was a sadness in Jem’s eyes as he looked at her, and then away. He nodded, and Charlotte didn’t argue further. “How do you suggest we lure him to a meeting? We can imitate Jessamine’s handwriting, but it’s likely they have some signal or something between them. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

 

“We’ll convince her,” said Will. “It’s her last chance to get leniency from the Clave. Even if Charlotte keeps the Institute, it’s not like they’ll allow her to decide Jessie’s fate. Helping us now might mean her life.”

 

“I’m not sure,” said Tessa, soft, “that she cares about her life, now.”

 

“We will have to hope she does,” said Charlotte. “But who can we send to persuade her? She hates and blames me in this most of all.”

 

“I could go,” Henry said, face troubled. “I could perhaps reason with her, tell her of the folly of young love and how fast it fades in the face of life’s harsh reality -”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, she certainly doesn’t wish to see _me,”_ said Will. “Send Jem. He’s impossible to hate. Even the devil cat loves him.” Issalinde purred, and Tessa wondered vaguely if she was asserting her own claim as a devil cat.

 

Jem exhaled, still staring into the fire. “I can go,” he said. “But I think Tessa should come as well.”

 

“Jessamine feels I’ve betrayed her by taking her form -”

 

“But you know your brother. Maybe you can make her believe what I can’t.”

 

Tessa just nodded. And that signaled the end of their meeting, it seemed, as Jem went to find his coat, Charlotte left for her study, and Henry returned to his workroom.

 

Will stayed behind, taking Jem’s spot in front of the fire. Tessa approached him, warily, remembering the aftermath of the last time she’d kissed him. Had she forgiven him for it, then? She felt she had, oddly enough.

 

“Will,” she said. He turned to look at her, but there was no pain in his eyes, no desire to hurt. Merely that contained energy, that excitement she couldn’t place.

 

“Weren’t you meant to be leaving with Jem?”

 

“I will,” she said. “But I want a promise from you first.”

 

“Then tell me what it is quickly,” he said, half a smirk on his face. “I have important business to get to. I will sulk all morning, followed by an afternoon of Byronic brooding and a nighttime of dissipation.”

 

“Dissipate all you like. I just want your word that we will talk. You, and me, and Jem. As soon as we can, before the week is out. I will not spend my life constantly kissing one of you and then the other and wondering which of you hates me and which one of us is pining for the other two until I go mad, William.”

 

Several emotions flashed across his face. Amusement, first, then affection, but that was chased away again by a familiar fear. Tessa winced, expecting him to say something harsh.

 

He didn’t. “Jem could never hate you,” he said, scratching Issalinde behind the ears. “And heaven knows I can’t manage it either,” he added as an afterthought. “Tess. Angel. You have my word. As soon as it’s possible - as soon as I can - you can have your talk. For now…” He sighed. “Go sort things out with James. He’s not angry with you. I expect the fool thinks you don’t return his feelings.”

 

Tessa blinked at him in astonishment. Will didn’t say anything else, merely smiled at her expression and turned back to the fire.

 

So she turned and, stopping only once, made her way out to the courtyard.

 

* * *

 

The Silent Brothers had sent a carriage themselves. It was black and towering - a Brother she didn’t recognize sat in the driver’s seat. His face seemed less scarred than Enoch’s from what Tessa could see under his cowl.

 

It was chilly, but not so much so that it didn’t feel like summer. The sky was a mass of gray clouds, edged with black, and Tessa stared out the carriage window.

 

For all that she had wanted time to talk to Jem, now she didn’t know what to say.

 

“Jem,” she said. That was a start.

 

He looked at her, his eyes unreadable. Chali shivered.

 

“Jem - I - you must know how much you mean to me,” she said, and he flinched.

 

“Please don’t,” he murmured.

 

Tessa blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“The way you say it, I -” he shook his head. “To be friends is a beautiful thing, Tessa, and I don’t scorn it, but I hoped for some time we would be more. And I thought, after the other night… but now -”

 

“Now I’ve ruined everything,” she muttered. She had been too forward, certainly. He no longer cared for her. “I’m so sorry.”

 

He looked out the window. “You should not have to apologize for not returning my feelings.”

 

“But - _Jem.”_ Bewildered, she opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I was apologizing for my behavior the other night. It was forward and inexcusable. I wasn’t apologizing because I don’t care for you.”  

 

He looked up in surprise. Mela chittered, nervously seeking eye contact with Chali. “Tessa, you can’t think that, can you? I was the one who acted inexcusably. I’ve barely been able to look at you since, thinking you were repulsed by me, you despised me, that I should have -”

 

“I could never despise you!” She couldn’t keep herself from interrupting that. “I’ve never met _anyone_ as kind and good as you are. I thought you were dismayed by me, you despised me -”

 

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then someone started to laugh, and then they were both laughing the sort of hysterical, relieved laughter that couldn’t be controlled. Chali and Mela watched them, amused and affectionate, from the other seat.

 

“I wanted to court you,” said Jem after they’d caught their breath. “To _tell_ you my feelings, first. To write poetry for you.”

 

“You don’t even like poetry,” said Tessa, a giggle still bubbling in her throat.

 

“True. But you make me want to write it. That must count for something.”

 

“It can’t be worse than Will’s,” she said, and Jem laughed. “But - Will. Jem, I wanted to talk to you, to both of you -”

 

Jem nodded. “I think that would be best. I don’t know what it is that he fears from you, but -”

 

“I kissed him last night,” Tessa blurted out.

 

Jem just laughed. “As did I.”

 

“Yes, I know,” she said, rather idiotically. Instead of replying, Jem leaned in, hesitating just before brushing her lips in a silent request for permission. When she nodded, he kissed her. Gently, softly, for only a second before he pulled away.

 

“And now I have kissed you this morning, and you have kissed me.” He smiled, but it faded for a moment, growing more serious. “Tessa - do you object? I know that our… arrangement, or whatever arrangement we may come to, isn’t… well, it isn’t done, among mundanes or among Nephilim.”

 

Tessa only laughed. “Nothing in this life is proper, to me. Of course I don’t object. I am happy, with you. With the _both_ of you. With him, if he’d have me.”

 

“He’d be a fool not to,” said Jem, and then she kissed him, longer, deeper.

 

The carriage stopped. They broke apart, sharing one secret smile.

 

Then Tessa stepped out, into the Silent City.

 

Three Brothers stood before an archway. Enoch was at their head, but the other two held torches, their hoods back. Both were blind, though only one had missing eyes like Enoch - the other had eyes that were shut, with runes scrawled across them.

 

 _Welcome again to the Silent City, daughter of Lilith,_ said Brother Enoch.

 

Tessa held her head high, thinking of tiny Charlotte, who leaned on no one. “Thank you,” she said. “We want to see Jessamine Lovelace. Will you take us to her?”

 

He didn’t reply, but he beckoned with one curled hand.

 

The prisons of the Silent City were beneath the ground, under its first level. Jem and Tessa were quiet as they followed their guides, but not awkwardly so - it was just that something about the place felt… as if it were a museum. Or a church. The sort of place where one only spoke in hushed voices. Even Chali and Mela didn’t run and play as they usually did, staying close to their sides.

 

At the bottom of a staircase, a corridor split into a row of cells. Each contained a bed and washstand, and nothing else. The walls were stone, and smelled of wet earth.

 

Finally, they reached a padlocked door. _You are welcome to enter,_ said Brother Enoch, touching the lock. The chains fell away without a sound.

 

Jem reached out, then hesitated. “Perhaps you should go first. I want to look for something in the archives, while we’re here.”

 

Tessa wanted to ask what, but she got the feeling he wouldn’t reply. So she nodded, flinching a bit when the door closed behind her and Chalivan.

 

The room was the same as every other. On the bed sat Jessamine, in a plain white dress, a rough blanket wrapped around her. Her hair fell around her shoulders in tangled lines, and her eyes were red.

 

“Welcome,” she said, and while her voice was bitter, it was also broken. “Nice place to live out of, isn’t it?” Jascuro lay beside her, not even moving to acknowledge Chali’s worried stare. “Did Charlotte send you to bring me back?”

 

Tessa just shook her head.

 

“But -” Jessamine’s eyes began to well up. “I can hear them. All night, I hear them.” She shuddered, pulling the blanket closer around her. Still, Jascuro didn’t move to comfort her in any way - he lay there, tiny chest rising and falling, seemingly in despair.

 

“You can hear what?”

 

“The dead,” she said. “Whispering. If I stay here long enough, I’ll join them. I know it. They tell me so.”

 

Tessa sat down on the edge of the bed and, carefully, reached out to touch Jessamine’s shoulder. “That won’t happen,” she said, and Jessie began to sob. Helplessly, Tessa looked around, as if something would appear to stop the flow of tears. Chali pecked at her pocket.

 

“Jessamine,” she said. “I brought you something.”

 

Slowly - very slowly - Jascuro lifted his head. Jessamine didn’t, but her sobs slowed. “Is it from Nate?”

 

“No,” she said. “It’s yours.” She reached into her pocket, extending her hand towards Jessamine. In it was the tiny baby doll she had taken from Jessamine’s dollhouse, before she’d left. “Baby Jessie.”

 

Jessamine made a quiet sound in her throat, and snatched it up, holding it tightly against her chest. Jascuro fluttered his wings, and Tessa was silent for a while.

 

Finally, she spoke again. “We need your help.”

 

“In betraying Nate,” Jessamine snapped. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

 

“Yes, you do.” That was Jem, coming in from the hall. He was out of breath, as if he’d been running. Tessa gave him a curious look, but he only smiled at her with one side of his mouth. “You do know why you’re here, Jessie.”

 

“Because I fell in love. You ought to know what that’s like. At least Nate is human. Not a half-bred warlock -”

 

Jem didn’t lose his composure. “I haven’t betrayed the Institute for Tessa,” he said. “I haven’t harmed and endangered the people who love me.”

 

“If you wouldn’t,” said Jessamine, “you don’t really love her.”

 

“If she asked me to,” said Jem, “I would know she did not really love _me.”_

 

Jessamine fell silent, with no reply to that. She turned away from him, and picked up Jascuro in her hands. “You,” she muttered, after a moment. “I always thought you were the nicest one. But you’re horrible. You’re all horrible. What more could you possibly want from me? You’ve already forced me to betray the man I love.”

 

There was a theatricality to her despair, Tessa thought. But under it, under the role of the wronged wife Jessie had cast for herself, Tessa did believe that Jessamine was genuinely afraid.

 

“I know you love Nate,” said Tessa. “I can’t convince you that he doesn’t return it -”

 

“You’re jealous.”

 

“Jessamine,” said Tessa, and her voice was emphatic. Trying, trying to make her understand. “Nate cannot love you. I don’t believe he loves anyone. He killed our aunt, did he tell you that? Killed the woman who raised him and laughed to me about it later. If you protect him now, it won’t do you any good.”

 

“We need you to write a letter to him,” said Jem, his voice so gentle. “Telling him to meet you, tonight.”

 

She shook her head. “I won’t betray him.”

 

“Jessie. Please. We are only asking you to send this message, tell us your usual meeting place. That’s all.”

 

“Nate will come to claim me.”

 

“Very well,” said Tessa. “Imagine that does happen. You say Nate loves you. Then he would forgive you anything, wouldn’t he? He would know you wouldn’t hold out against torture in the way he would.”

 

Jessamine made a whimpering noise. Tessa touched her arm, and she looked from her to Jem and back again.

 

“Would you forgive Tessa, if it were her?”

 

“I would forgive Tessa anything,” said Jem, and his voice was so certain that Tessa wanted to cry.

 

“Jessamine, please,” she said, instead.

 

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Jessamine spoke again. “You must wear men’s clothes,” she said. “It’s safer for me to walk the streets alone like that. He will expect it.” Jascuro took a strand of her matted hair, pulled it out of her face. “I’ll write your note. But I ought to get something in return for this. If they won’t let me out, at least get me some better food.” She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged at Tessa. Her eyes, now, had a hint of her old haughtiness. “And if you must borrow some of my clothes, do. You’ve been wearing the same four dresses I bought you in June over and over.”

 

“Thank you,” said Tessa, and her throat was oddly tight.

 

“Well,” said Jessamine. She set Jascuro down on the bed, pulled the blanket back around her shoulders. Then she smiled, a horrible sad smile. “I doubt I’ll ever need them again.”

 

* * *

 

The trousers and loose shirt that Jessamine had didn’t fit Tessa. She stared at her reflection, nerves swirling around and around in her head.

 

She didn’t look like a man. She looked like a girl, playing dress-up. Logically, she knew the clothes would fit her better when she Changed, but still she felt naked. Unprotected. She missed her angel pendant - another time she couldn’t wear it, for fear that Nate would recognize it.

 

They were gathered in the library when she arrived, Henry explaining a new device of his that would - hopefully - stop the clockwork creatures from functioning. He was saying something about disrupting electrical currents, Aisling chattering happily at his side.

 

“I only have two of them,” he said. “So here.” He handed one to Charlotte, and one to Jem. “Twist it, then throw it - try to lodge it in one of the gears, somewhere it’ll stick. It’ll wrench it apart, hopefully, but it could do you some damage too, so don’t hold onto it once it’s activated.”

 

Tessa sat down, nodding, and Changed into Jessamine without a word. She’d come a long way, she thought, from the terrified Change into Camille, the mess she’d been after her time at the Dark House. Jessie’s mind, quiet and despairing, brushed against her own.

 

“They meet in a warehouse, on Mincing Lane,” said Charlotte. “It used to be a tea merchant’s packing factory, it went bankrupt.”

 

“Mincing Lane. Center of the tea trade, and the opium trade,” said Jem. “It makes sense Mortmain would keep a warehouse there.” He looked at the map, spread out on the table. “It’s odd for Jessamine, though,” he added. “She always dreamed of such glamour. Being introduced at court, putting her hair up for dances.” His tone was sad.

 

“She did do what she set out to do,” said Tessa. “She married someone who isn’t a Nephilim.”

 

Will half-smiled. It was bitter. “I suppose this makes her your sister-in-law.”

 

“She deserves better than my brother.”

 

“Anyone deserves better than that.”

 

Tessa reached for Jessamine’s mind, knowing full well it wouldn’t work. _Jessie, where is Mortmain?_

 

There was only a feeling of sad amusement. Tessa hadn’t expected anything more.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jessie.


	15. Wheresoever Murders Have Been Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a lot of blood, in this one. And character death.

 

Tessa would meet with Nate in the warehouse, while the rest of the Institute’s Nephilim would be watching from some concealed location, ready to step in in case he didn’t say anything of use, he tried to leave, or if things got too dangerous. There was some consternation over who was going to guard the Institute while they were gone, before Sophie sent a message to Gideon Lightwood.

 

He arrived, seeming unruffled as ever, a half-hour later. “You called on me?” He said. He glanced at Tessa with one eyebrow raised, and she realized that, of course, he saw Jessamine. She thought a quick thanks that Chali was hidden under her hat, since he’d yet to transform back into Jascuro’s shape. _That_ would be difficult to explain, and while Gideon know of her power in theory, it would raise awkward questions.

 

“I need you to train Sophie,” said Charlotte. “And to look after the Institute while we’re gone. We have an important errand to attend to.”

 

“How long will you be gone?”

 

“Three hours, four. Not all night.”

 

“All right,” he said, amicably enough. “My father would say it’s good practice for when I run the place.”

 

Will muttered something rude under his breath in Welsh. Charlotte just looked at Gideon with a level expression.

 

“It’s possible that the Institute may be yours one day,” she said. Raimond, much smaller than Gideon’s sandy-colored dog daemon (Chali had said her name was Niranthia) had her in a silent stalemate. The two regarded each other for a while. “In any case, we’re grateful for your help.”

 

Gideon inclined his head, and turned to Sophie. Bridget was singing, and her voice poured in when they opened the door to leave.

 

_“And the blood came pouring down._

_Says John to William, ‘Take off thy shirt’,_

_And tear it from gore to gore,_

_And wrap it round your bleeding heart,_

_And the blood will pour no more.”_

 

Gideon said something indistinct to Sophie about it as they left the room, and Sophie laughed a loud, startled laugh.

 

It seemed natural to fall into step beside Jem and Will as they went downstairs. Will was examining a long, thin dagger, not making eye contact, but he squeezed her fingers with his empty hand, and Jem smiled at both of them as they approached the carriage that would take everyone besides Tessa to the warehouse first.

 

Charlotte turned back to Tessa and put her hand against her cheek. “We’ll see you there,” she said. “You’ll be perfectly safe. And… thank you. For doing this for us.” Raimond nuzzled at Chali, who had finally taken Jascuro’s form, his tail wagging slowly. Then she dropped her hand, and started down the steps, Henry following her.

 

Tessa squeezed Jem’s wrist, remembering a night like this one, when he’d run back up the steps to say goodbye to her.

 

 _“Mizpah,”_ she said.

 

He inhaled a sharp, surprised breath, and then smiled and turned to kiss her. Quickly, with only a half-smile before he turned to walk down the steps as well. Will squeezed her hand once more, then followed after him.  

 

* * *

 

The warehouse was one of those great limestone things, surrounded by a high fence. The windows were boarded over, but the padlock was in good shape. Suspicious enough, Will thought, as Henry put an Open rune on it.

 

Inside the front door was a suite of offices. Only one still had furniture - a desk, a lamp, a sofa with a high back.

 

“Doubtless where Jessie and Nate accomplished the majority of their courtship,” said Will to Jem, under his breath. Jem made a disgusted face at him. “Oh? I didn’t realize you’d taken up such a strong anti-courtship stance since - when was that, two nights ago?”

 

Jem just rolled his eyes, as Mela head-butted Issalinde good-naturedly. “Not on principle. The thought of Nate Gray touching _anyone_ is… ugh. And Jessamine’s so convinced he loves her. If you could see her, I think even you might pity her, Will.”  

 

“I would not.” Will fiddled with the bandage on his arm. “Unrequited love is a ridiculous state that makes those in it behave ridiculously.”

 

Jem gave him another one of his looks. Will was never very good at describing them, even to himself. “I agree with Tessa. The lot of us need to talk about whatever you’re so afraid of.”

 

Damn it, even those words made his heart sink. He’d been too kind to Tessa, lately. What was he _doing,_ risking her like this on the hope that since his curse would soon be gone, it might be lifted before she would die? All for his own weakness? What if the curse couldn’t be undone? He would have to break her heart all over again. Would Jem forgive him that?

 

“We’ve got a lot more to be getting on with right now,” he said. “Considering the army of mechanical creatures and the madman hell-bent on destroying us all. Speaking of -” he raised his voice. “Charlotte? Anything in the desk?”

 

“Nothing.” Aisling pushed the drawers shut, and Charlotte smiled at her in thanks, though her smile was pained. “Some papers listing the prices of tea and the times of tea auctions. And some dead spiders.”

 

“How romantic.” Will followed Jem into the next office, but that one was empty of anything except cobwebs. The last door, however, opened up onto the warehouse floor. It was enormous, the ceiling disappearing into darkness. Wooden steps led up to a gallery on the second floor. There were burlap sacks propped against the walls, and Will had to do a double-take. In the dimness, they looked like bodies.

 

Henry, investigating them, shook his head. “Tea,” he said.

 

Jem looked around, frowning. “This place’s been abandoned for years. And yet, no dust on the floor. _Someone’s_ been here, someone more than Jessamine and Nate in an abandoned office.”

 

“There are more offices that way,” said Henry. “Charlotte and I will search them. Will, Jem, you examine the second floor.”

 

Will grinned at Jem. It was a rare and novel thing that Henry gave orders. Scooping Issalinde into his arms - he wouldn’t be surprised if she wandered into something or got stuck in a bag of tea - he started up the stairs. Jem followed.

 

Will found himself on the gallery, a platform. It was empty, he thought - except for another few burlap bags? No, this one really was a body. A young man -

 

He dropped Issalinde. She didn’t cry out.

 

Will had seen this vision before, in nightmares. The body, slim and youthful, limp on the ground. Silver hair and dark clothes, closed bruised-looking eyes, framed with silver lashes.

 

“Will?” It was Jem, behind him. He looked from Will’s face to the body on the floor and pushed past him, kneeling at its side and feeling for its wrist. A wolf daemon, curled beside it, didn’t react. Kasimela, however, looked up at Will from where she sat next to Issalinde.

 

“He’s all right,” she said, and Will nodded mutely, kneeling on the body’s other side. Jem looked up.

 

“He’s still got a pulse.”

 

At this distance, it was easier to see that this man wasn’t Jem. He was white, and his shoulders were a little broader, his proportions a little off. Will’s frantic heartbeat slowed itself down as the man’s eyes fluttered open. Silver discs, with barely any pupil, like Jem’s at the worst times.

 

“You’re a werewolf,” said Will. “One of the packless ones. Buying _yin fen_ off the ifrits down the Chapel. Aren’t you?”

 

The werewolf’s eyes ran over them both and fastened on Jem. His hand shot out, and he grabbed the front of Jem’s shirt. “You. You’re one of us. ‘Ave you got any of it? Any of it on you?”

 

Jem recoiled, eyes shadowed. Will seized the werewolf by the wrist and shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch him,” he said, and his voice was ice-cold. “He doesn’t have any of your filthy drug. It doesn’t work on us like it does on you.”

 

“Will,” said Jem. His voice was quiet, but there was a request in it. _Be kinder._

 

“You work for Mortmain,” said Will. His voice didn’t soften. “Tell us what you do for him. Tell us where he is.”

 

The werewolf laughed. Blood ran over his chin, splashed between his lips. “As if I’d know. Bloody fools, the pair of you. If I ‘ad, some strength -” he choked, gasping for air in that horribly familiar way. Issalinde, who had been investigating the slumped form of the wolf daemon, returned to Will’s side, a comforting warmth. He didn’t feel comforted.

 

“But you don’t. And maybe we do have some _yin fen.”_

 

“Pah. You don’t. You think, I don’t know?” Another cough wracked him, and blood spattered across his shirt. “When ‘e gave it to me first, I saw things - such things as you can’t imagine. The great, crystal city, the towers of heaven. I thought I was going to live forever. Work all night. All day. Never get tired. Then we started, we started dying off. One by one. It kills you, but ‘e never said. I came back ‘ere. To see if there was any, any stashed around. But there’s none. No point leavin’. Might as well die ‘ere as anywhere.”

 

“He knew what he was doing,” said Jem. “When he gave you that drug. He knew it would kill you. What was he doing? What were you working on?”

 

“Putting those _things_ together. Metal men. The money were good and the drugs were better.”

 

“And a great deal of good that money will do you now,” said Jem. His voice was bitter, and Will took his hand. Who cared what this man saw - he was dying, now. “How often did you take it? The powder?”

 

“Six. Seven times a day.”

 

“No wonder they’re running out of it down at the Chapel,” muttered Will. “You’re not supposed to take it like that. The more you take, the faster it kills you.”

 

The werewolf just shrugged weakly. “And you? ‘Ow much longer ‘ve you, ‘ave you got left?”

 

Jem didn’t answer. Will’s hand tightened on his.

 

“Jem, if we can get him downstairs, maybe the Brothers can do something to help him -”

 

“There’s no point,” said Jem, his voice dull. And when Will looked, he saw that the daemon had vanished, the silver eyes were staring blankly, the chest was falling, falling, falling. Never rising again.

 

Jem reached to close his eyes. Will caught his wrist.

 

“Don’t.”

 

“I wasn’t going to give him the blessing, Will. Just close his eyes.”

 

“He doesn’t deserve that. He was working with Mortmain.” The words were harsher than he meant them to be.

 

“He is like me,” said Jem. Mela sat, calmly, by his side. “An addict.”

 

Will felt something in his chest, the same something that made him want to pull Jem close and protect him and cure him by the sheer force of his love for him. “He is _nothing_ like you,” he said. “And you won’t die like this.”

 

“We shall see,” said Jem, his voice sad. “We shall see.”

 

Before Will could argue with him, there was the sound of a door opening. A voice, calling out. Will released Jem’s hand, and both of them crept to the edge of the gallery to see what was happening below.

 

* * *

 

Tessa arrived after the rest. After Nate, too, she realized, as she looked through empty offices. When she reached the warehouse floor, she saw him leaning against the wall, his hair in disarray, looking careworn. Faela, on his shoulder as always, rested her head on his neck. She too looked washed-out, fatigued.

 

“Jessamine,” he said, sounding relieved. Tessa called on Jessie’s happiness to see him, but even that was tainted by her misery over the betrayal. She only managed a weak smile as he opened his arms. “My darling.”

 

She went into his embrace, trying not to remember times before she had known what he was. “I need to know,” she said, making her voice quiver. “I heard their plans, you see. I need to know where the Magister is. I know you don’t wish to tell me, but it’s terribly important -”

 

Nate ignored her, tilting her face up. “I see,” he said. “But first, come and kiss me, sweet-and-twenty.”

 

Tessa’s skin crawled with revulsion. Was this something that counted as dangerous enough that they’d burst in? She doubted it. Was she really going to have to endure this? She fought not to flinch away as he drew her up, up -

 

Then he began to laugh. “Apologies,” he said, his entire demeanor changing with his sarcastic smile. “I just wanted to see how far you’d go to protect them, Tessie dear.”

 

 _“Nate.”_ Tessa tried to jerk backwards, but his other hand darted out, catching her arm. In another moment, he had his forearm digging into her neck, pinning her against him as a hostage. She didn’t even have time to react.

 

“Did you really think that would work? After the stunt at the party?” Tessa struggled, thinking frantically of Gabriel’s instructions. _Kick for the kneecaps._ But the position made that impossible.

 

“It did work,” she said. “We learned enough. Is that why you look so stressed, Nate? Mortmain’s not so happy with you anymore?” Chali shrieked, and flew at Nate’s face, making him flinch - but not enough for Tessa to wriggle free.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll bring you to him now.”

 

Tessa bit his arm. Much as she had bitten Henry, ages ago, and where was Henry? Where were they all? Nate was swearing, but his hand was viselike on her, his forearm still clamped to her neck.

 

“They’re not going to save you, little sister,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Here’s one of them, at least.” He whistled, and something moved in the shadows.

 

It wasn’t an automaton like the others were. It didn’t look human at all - it was enormous, surely twenty feet tall. It had no face, only smooth metal, though it split into arms and legs. In those arms, looking even tinier than usual, was Charlotte’s limp form. From where she stood, Tessa couldn’t tell if her chest was rising and falling.

 

 _“Charlotte!”_ Tessa shouted, redoubling her efforts to get away. Nate laughed, and Faela chittered, looking down with her beady, dark eyes.

 

“You care so much for her, don’t you. Almost as much as you cared for Harriet. Are you so desperate for a mother that you’ll accept anyone?”

 

“At least I can love,” said Tessa, her breath harsh. “At least I’m not like my brother -”

 

“I am _not_ your brother.”

 

“Half-brother, then, if you must have it -”

 

“Not even that.” Nate chuckled, and she could feel it against her back. “Your mother was Elizabeth Gray, nee Moore. Mine was Harriet Moore.” When Tessa froze, he went on. “She was engaged, once, you know. After your parents were married. But her fiance died, and she was already pregnant. Your mother raised me to spare her the shame.”

 

“You killed her,” said Tessa, numbly. “Your mother.”

 

“I killed her because she was ashamed of me. Because she disowned me. Because she was a whore.” Nate dug his arm into Tessa’s throat, making her choke. “Perhaps this new mother of yours is better, but I doubt it. Drop her.”

 

The automaton did as it was told. Charlotte fell over ten feet to the floor, and lay unmoving.

 

“Now crush her.”

 

_“No!”_

 

At first, Tessa thought it had been her that yelled. But it was too deep for that. Henry ran from the shadows, favoring one leg, face pale, blood on his temple, a misericord in his hands. He didn’t even look at Tessa and Nate, bringing the blade down with a screech of metal on metal. Sparks flew, and the automaton staggered back - but then it swung forward, sending Henry flying, where he crashed into a pillar and lay still.

 

Nate laughed again. “Such a display of matrimonial devotion,” he mused. “Jessie always said Branwell couldn’t stand his wife.”

 

Tessa didn’t answer. She looked at Chalivan, and back to Nate. Chali would know - and then Chali flew at his eyes again, becoming a crow midflight, and this time he didn’t stop. This time, he raked his talons across Nate’s forehead, and Tessa felt it all through her like a bath of ice, a physical illness, even though Chali had been the one to touch first. Blood dripped into her brother’s - her cousin’s - eyes, and she forced herself to move, fighting free of his grip at last as he stumbled and swore.  

 

And then Will and Jem jumped from the gallery and onto the metal creature’s shoulders. It roared, staggered back, stumbling on heavy feet. Far too close to Charlotte’s limp form. Tessa ran to her side, laying her fingers to her throat, over the runes - there was a pulse. Dizzy with relief and adrenaline, Tessa reached within herself for her own body, pulled it from Jessamine’s, and hooked her arms under Charlotte’s shoulders, dragging her out of the way. She laid her down among the sacks of tea and looked across the room, trying to find a clear path to Henry.

 

Will and Jem, meanwhile, were each on one shoulder of the creature, slashing, moving as if in a dance. They inflicted some damage, it was true, but it seemed superficial - merely dents and scratches.

 

Nate was bleeding and cursing. “Shake them off!” he yelled, and the automaton shook violently. Will slipped, barely managing to catch the thing’s neck, but Jem wasn’t so lucky. He fell, his sword-cane tumbling from his hand, his leg bent under him at a sharp angle. Mela ran to his side with a whimper.

 

 _“James!”_ shouted Will, and his voice was terrible and panicked. Tessa, Henry forgotten, ran forward, but Jem was already struggling to his feet. In his hand was the device Henry had given him. He reached out his hand to throw it -

 

And Nate was behind him. He kicked at Jem’s injured leg, and Jem went down with a sharp snapping noise and a quiet, choked cry of pain. The object rolled from his hand.

 

Tessa ran towards it, just as Nate did. They collided, and she fell as Gabriel had taught her to, rolling on impact and scrambling for the device. Will was shouting her name, telling her to throw it to him, but Nate had her leg and was drawing her backwards -

 

She couldn’t reach it. Not in time. Nate was faster and stronger. So she did what was left to her - she Changed.

 

Suddenly, she was taller, broader. Her shirt, made for Jessamine and so already too small, ripped an inch or so over her shoulders. Her trousers were too loose in the hips and too short in the legs. Nate, shocked, released her, and she scrambled to her feet.

 

She was, besides her clothes and besides Chali’s form, a perfect reflection of him. While he stared, almost despite himself, she snatched the device and threw it to Will, grateful now for all the time spent throwing knives. It soared to him in a clean arc, and she turned to the automaton.

 

“Seize this man and hold him!” She said, and Nate’s voice echoed from her mouth.

 

“That won’t possibly work -” Nate was panting, wiping blood from his face.

 

“I am Nathaniel Gray!” Tessa’s chest heaved up and down with the force of her breath. Chali, behind her, cawed loudly, sharply. “And I _order_ you, in the name of the Magister, to _seize this man!”_

 

“It won’t listen to you, you stupid little -”

 

His voice cut off. The creature had snatched him up, clicking and whirring inquisitively. Will, finished with whatever he was doing, dropped from its shoulder, and shouted something at Tessa. Nate began to scream as the creature’s grip tightened, and then Will was running at her, and then -

 

There was a horrible cacophony of metal, screaming, twisting. A gurgled scream from Nate. Will’s body over hers - he was the same size as Nate, and in a panic, Tessa lost the Change again. The floor was shaking. Will was shaking. Or perhaps it was her -

 

And then it was over. Will rolled off of her, and she saw a ruined room, the windows broken, metal scrap everywhere - and Nate. Leaning against a pillar, pinned to it with shrapnel through his chest, much like his automatons had killed Agatha.

 

She didn’t have time to look at the others. Despite everything, she ran to him. Chali - having made himself small for the blast - was at her side, and she put her hands frantically on his shoulders.

 

“Nate. Nate.” She wasn’t supposed to, she knew, but she pulled the metal out. He groaned, eyes rolling up as he slumped to the floor, and she wadded up her jacket, pressed it to the gaping hole in his stomach.

 

“Tessie,” he said, and his voice was thick, as if coming through layers of water. Faela looked at the wound, looked at Nate’s eyes, and then, deliberately, curled up on his chest. Nate looked back at her. “We’re dying,” he said, and there was fear in his eyes. “We’re really dying.”

 

Tessa’s eyes blurred. “Nate -”

 

“No. I’ve failed him. He’d kill me anyway, and he’d make it slow.”

 

She took a ragged breath in. “I should leave you to die alone,” she said. “You would, if it were me.”

 

Nate made a gurgling, pained noise. “You always were better than me,” he said, but not angrily. There was nothing but despair in his voice, now.

 

“Where’s Mortmain? Where is he?”

 

But Nate was staring at Faela’s eyes, his fear mirrored in hers. “I’m dying. I - I’m really dying, Tessie.”

 

Despite everything, despite it all, Tessa found her hand slipping into his. The terror in his face was no act.

 

He groaned, but his fingers twitched around hers. “I’m going to burn,” he said, sadly. “There’s no forgiveness, but - do you forgive me?”

 

Tessa stared at him. At his blood, all over her shirt and hands. At the brother she’d grown up beside, the brother who’d played with her and laughed with her and turned around and killed his own mother, betrayed the only family she had left. “Yes,” she lied, and thought that, after this, he wasn’t the only one who’d burn. “Yes, Nate. I forgive you.”

 

He half-smiled. His face had gone parchment-white. _“You don’t know everything I’ve done.”_

 

Before she could reply to that, Faela exhaled and flickered out. Chali let out a pained, mournful cry, despite everything. There would be no more Nate. No more Faela. No more of either of them, ever again.

 

He fell back, his eyes unfocused, and Nathaniel Gray died, bled out on a warehouse floor, held in his sister’s arms.

 

Tessa got to her feet. She was shaking, a fine tremor that she couldn’t stop, no matter what she did. As she noticed it, it only got stronger and stronger, and she stumbled towards the others. Had they heard? What did they think of her now? What did she think of herself, now?

 

They weren’t even looking at her. Charlotte was coming to, and Henry was conscious as well. They knelt, their backs obscuring a form on the ground, and Tessa’s shaking was suddenly a hundred times worse.

 

It was like a nightmare, like running down a corridor and never reaching the end. Moving too slowly, every step like a mile. She forced herself forward, desperate, slipping on blood, until she reached them.

 

Will was laying on his side, breathing labored, making broken noises of pain. Jem had pulled his head into his lap, heedless of his own broken leg, splayed out in front of him, and was speaking, quickly, quietly.

 

“It’s all right,” he said, panic in his voice. “I know, 心爱的 _._ It hurts, I know, I know. No, no, stay awake. Look at me, William. Keep looking at me, 心爱的. It’s going to be all right if you stay awake, you’re all right, just breathe -”

 

Jem’s voice faded out. Will was laying in a pool of blood.

 

At first, Tessa didn’t know where it was coming from - and then she saw that the back of his gear shirt was shredded open. Bits of metal, most no bigger than a few inches, protruded from his skin, as blood ran out from around them with every shaking breath Will drew. Issalinde, nearby, wasn’t unhurt - she had been cut, blood running down her side.

 

Tessa fell to her knees next to Jem and Will. “Will,” she whispered, but he didn’t respond. His eyes were open, though they kept drifting shut. “Will -” she looked to Charlotte, desperately. “Can’t you heal him?”

 

“We gave him a rune to stop blood loss,” said Charlotte, and her voice was slurred, her pupils different sizes. “But a healing rune would close the skin over the metal. We need to get him back, but I’m not sure he’s strong enough -” she swayed, listing to one side. Henry looked to be in no better shape, but he pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s head. “I’ve called for Cyril. He’s outside with the carriage. But… there’s no guarantee he’ll survive the journey if he passes out now.”

 

Tessa looked at Will, looked at Jem, still bent over him, speaking a steady stream of soothing, loving, empty promises, trying to keep him awake.

 

Will had protected her. And now he was dying.

 

The icy, horrible fear was twisting at her, so much she didn’t think she could speak.

 

She reached for his face, brushing the hair from his sweaty forehead. His eyes were glazed, hazy - she doubted he recognized her, but then he smiled around a whimper of pain.

 

“Tessa’s here, now,” whispered Jem. “Tessa’s here, she’s here with us. We love you, William. 请不要离开我们. Please.”  

 

Tessa looked at Will’s face, looked at the way his eyes kept trying to flutter closed, only to force themselves open at the sound of Jem’s voice. She looked at Issalinde, hazy with pain and not making a sound.

 

Then she extended a hand, not caring that Charlotte and Henry were still there, that she had never done this, that it was the most intimate thing she’d ever done. She reached out to Issalinde, and when she didn’t move away, Tessa pulled her close and began brushing the blood off of her fur with her fingers.

 

She felt it again, this time, but not like an icy sickness. Like a vulnerability, like trust. Like love, but more intense than any emotion or sensation she was used to. For a moment, she was speechless, overwhelmed by _Will._

 

One's daemon, she thought, really was one’s soul.

 

Will jolted. For a moment, he seemed not to notice the pain, the blood. His eyes opened, wider, and met hers. There, again, was that same raw vulnerability that she had seen in Jem’s eyes, on the train. He shook, and Jem fell silent, hand cupping his face. An unspoken reassurance. A support, something to cling to.  

 

“William,” she said, her breath coming sharp. “Will. I have you now. You’re not going to get lost, and we’re not going to lose you, because I have you. I won’t let you fall asleep. I love you, William Herondale, for all your nonsense, and I’ve got you, and _I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”_

 

There was silence. Too much silence, and her voice echoed in the destroyed warehouse.

 

Then Issalinde began to purr, and Will’s eyes cleared, just the slightest amount. He smiled, shakily, and winced when even that jarred him.

 

“How can I argue with that, angel?” He slurred, and looked up at them both. Tessa’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head. “Don’t cry, Tess. I love you too much for that.” He turned a little, into Jem’s embrace. “I didn’t frighten you too badly, did I, James? It’s about time I was the one bleeding in your arms for once.”

 

Jem’s hand still pressed into Will’s cheek. “It’s about time,” he echoed, and there was a joy and relief in his voice that was almost painful. “But let’s not repeat this in future.”

 

Issalinde pushed her face into Tessa’s hands, weakly, making her shiver. Jem looked up, worried. “Tessa - you’re bleeding.”

 

“Not mine,” she said, and Issalinde wriggled free and over to Will. Jem shook his head, reaching out with a hand covered in Will’s blood to touch her hair.

 

“No, here,” he said, and suddenly pain was blossoming from where he touched, and suddenly things were very dark.

 

Jem said her name, suddenly sharp, and Charlotte was saying something, but the last thing Tessa saw before unconsciousness was Will’s eyes, and the despair and fear in them was more than she’d ever seen.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really long, very angsty, very very fun chapter. 
> 
> They love each other so much.


	16. Unconfined

Tessa dreamed. Or perhaps she woke? 

 

No, she was dreaming. It seemed she was looking down at herself, in a bed with crisp white sheets, as she lay still. The infirmary was light and airy, afternoon sunlight streaming in, but her eyes didn’t open. Chali lay next to her, head beneath his wing. 

 

Dreamwalking, she thought, and knew without question that it was something she could do, though she had never experienced it before. 

 

Charlotte and Brother Enoch were standing over her. Charlotte’s voice cut through her thoughts, fearful. “But she fainted. With a wound to the head -” 

 

_ It is your concussion you should concern yourself with. She fainted from repeated shocks. When she is ready, when her body and spirit have rested, she will awaken.  _

 

Charlotte touched Tessa’s face, lightly. Her hands smelled of lemon soap, and that was all she knew before the dream fractured and spun into something new. 

 

Now it was dark, and a few beds away from her lay Will, on his stomach. He was naked, his arms folded on the pillows in front of him, his head resting on them. Blood spotted the sheets beneath him, as Brother Enoch stood above. 

 

Jem was at his side as well, and Will was gripping his hand, so tightly both of their fingers were white, as the Silent Brother pulled metal from his flesh. Issalinde yowled angrily, kneading back and forth at the sheets. 

 

“There are only a few more,” Jem was saying. 

 

“Easy for you to say.” Will groaned, and flinched as the next shard of steel was pulled from his back, blood welling up around it. Tessa flinched as well, and sought something else to see. Something that was not Will’s pain. 

 

Charlotte and Jem both sat beside her bed, talking. 

 

“I suppose we’ll have to give up the Institute, now,” said Charlotte, and her voice was dull and blank. “We have lost Nathaniel Gray as a source, we had a spy among us and didn’t even know, and we’re no closer to finding Mortmain than we were two weeks ago.” 

 

“What does Henry have to say about this?” 

 

She sighed, and Raimond laid his head on her leg. “He thinks it’s his fault that Will and Tessa are hurt so badly. He won’t even come in here.” 

 

“If it hadn’t been for his device, we might well be dead.” 

 

“You can explain that to him, if you like. Heaven knows I’ve given up on trying.” 

 

And then Charlotte was gone. The light shifted, and Jem was alone, sitting beside Tessa. He looked at her, and smiled crookedly, though it was still a little sad. 

 

“Tessa, my Tessa,” he said. “Brother Enoch says you’ll wake up when you’re ready. That you’re not hurt so very badly. I can’t find that comforting. It’s like when Will tells me we’re only a little lost somewhere. I know it means we won’t be back for hours.” He sighed. “You saved his life, you know. Gave him quite the shock doing it. He’ll always have the scars, but a few  _ iratzes  _ after the metal was out and it’s like it never happened.” 

 

Jem fell silent for a few moments. Mela sat on the bed near Tessa’s feet. 

 

“I love you,” he said, after a while. “And I don’t want to lose you.” 

 

_ I love you too,  _ she tried to say, but there were other dreams that called to her, and though she fought to stay at his side, she was floating again. 

 

* * *

 

This dream was sharper. More real. And, to her surprise, not in the infirmary at all.

 

It was dark, in the cell. Tessa felt Jessie, felt her loneliness, all intertwined with an inescapable terror. She lay still, on her narrow bed, and mourned. 

 

Somehow, she knew that Nate was dead. 

 

_ I have nothing,  _ Jessamine thought.  _ I chose Nate over them, and now he is dead, and Mortmain will want me dead as well, and Charlotte despises me. I gambled, but I lost everything.  _

 

There was a growing, sickening despair in her mind, battling the fear. Tessa felt it, and wanted to flinch away. But instead of weeping, or shouting, Jessamine pulled a ring from a chain around her neck. Her wedding ring. Clutching it between her fingers, she began to carve something into the wall of the cell.

 

J. G. Jessamine Gray.

 

There might have been more to it, but the stone shattered, and her knuckles slammed into the wall. 

 

Even the diamond had not been real. 

 

Jessamine rolled over, buried her face in the rough blanket, and pulled Jascuro close. 

 

* * *

 

The infirmary was dark when Tessa opened her eyes. Her own eyes, in her own body, heavy with grogginess and with a bandage wrapped around her head. 

 

Next to her, on the table, was a cup of some sort of tisane, and a plate of dry crackers. She knew without question that Charlotte had left them there, and felt…  _ safe, _ she thought. Love, for all its forms, was an odd thing. She reached for the cup, only to look up and see Will on the bed next to hers. 

 

He was wearing loose clothes, under which she could see the bandages crossing his torso. Issalinde was watching her with a fixed stare, paws folded under her body.

 

“Will,” she said. Relief battled with nerves in her chest - seeing him conscious and alive, after not knowing whether she’d see either ever again, was a weight off of her that left her dizzy. But she also remembered how Will had reacted the first time she had shown him love - and she’d done more than just kiss him, now. She’d  _ touched Issalinde.  _

 

Almost instinctively, she pulled the blanket closer to herself. 

 

“Are you cold?” Will offered her the mug. “Charlotte left this. It might still be warm.” He slipped out of his bed, before Tessa could argue with him, and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder with his back against the headboard of her own bed. 

 

He was very warm. Tessa wanted to nod back off to sleep against his shoulder. 

 

Chali, she saw, had become a mottled tabby cat, and had curled up next to Issalinde, purring up a small storm. Issalinde made a quiet “mrr” sound of amusement and licked his ear. That, at least, was encouraging. 

 

There was quiet. 

 

“I’m sorry about your brother,” said Will, finally. 

 

Tessa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You couldn’t be.” Despite the bitterness in her tone, she didn’t move away. “I know you think he deserved what he got. He probably did.”

 

“My sister died,” said Will, “And there was nothing I could do about it. I’m sorry about your brother.” 

 

She nodded, and leaned into his chest. She was beginning to feel very light, as if the bed was not set on the floor, but instead gently listing from side to side. Will didn’t feel steady, either - when she closed her eyes, she felt as if they were both rolling slightly to the left, though she knew they were still. 

 

“Will,” she said. “I feel very odd.” 

 

He wrapped his arms around her. “Do you want me to get Charlotte?” 

 

“No,” said Tessa. Her eyelids felt heavy again, so she tucked her head into where Will’s neck met his shoulder, careful not to jar him too much. It seemed safer there, so - “I was afraid you’d push me away again,” she said. 

 

Will sighed. “I gave up,” he said, and there was a bleak despair in his voice that Tessa didn’t like. It didn’t fit with this moment. “Please, please forgive me.” 

 

It reminded her, unpleasantly, of Nate. But before she could answer one way or the other, or demand an explanation, sleep had pulled her back under. 

 

* * *

 

Will had wanted to lay there with Tessa forever. His arm was falling asleep, his back throbbed, and the headboard pressed uncomfortably against his shoulders, but he decided that all of that was a perfectly acceptable trade to feel the warmth of her sleeping on him for the foreseeable future. 

 

But that was before Magnus’ note. Sophie had brought it, raising her eyebrows at the way Tessa was curled into his side. He’d given her his usual arrogant grin, as perfunctorily as ever, and opened the note. 

 

No greeting. No signature. Just an address in Chelsea, where the artist types made their livings. 

 

Will had, as gently as possible, disentangled himself and pulled Issalinde away from Chalivan. She sulked about it, and he didn’t blame her. He’d caught her looking at the places Tessa had touched her, contented, and she only told him “it’s about time” when he’d asked. But without too much trouble he was free and out of the door. 

 

The house in question was a typical townhouse, fairly small, with a black metal fence running around it. Even in the small hours of the night, the houses around it had lamps lit, music and voices emanating from them. The gate was unlocked, so Will strode up to the door and knocked on it, loudly. 

 

It swung open to reveal neither Magnus nor a footman, but Woolsey Scott. He was dressed in loose trousers and a green silk dressing gown, and he looked almost as surprised to see Will as Will was to see him. His eyes widened, and the monocle made one eye look thrice the size of the other. 

 

For a moment, they looked at each other in bemused silence. Woolsey broke it. 

 

“If you’re not here to declare your undying love for me, I don’t want to see you,” he said, and leaned against the doorframe. Will wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that. Issalinde hissed. 

 

“Oh, leave him be,” said a familiar voice. “I told you he’d be here.” Magnus emerged from the hall, appearing in the doorway. He appeared to have just been woken, his hair mussed and his eyes bleary. 

 

“You said he’d be here in the morning.” 

 

“It is morning,” said Will, fairly certain that it could only be a few hours until dawn. 

 

“Will,” said Magnus, apparently deciding not to address this. “This is Woolsey Scott. He’s been kind enough to let me lodge with him while I decide what to do next.” 

 

“We’ve met,” said Will. 

 

“I say we go to Rome,” said Woolsey, ignoring him.

 

Magnus pressed a hand to his forehead. “All well and good, but before that I need the use of a room. Preferably one with little or nothing in it.” 

 

Woolsey removed his monocle and stared at Magnus, one eyebrow raised suggestively. “And you’re going to do  _ what  _ in this room, exactly?” 

 

“Summon the demon Marbas,” said Magnus, and Casimir grinned wickedly from his shoulder as his scales turned a pretty green color. Woolsey laughed. 

 

“I suppose we all have our ideas about what makes a good time. You can take my brother’s old room - the furniture’s been covered and moved in there. I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me, I suppose.” He stretched, then padded off down the hall. Magnus gestured for Will to come in, so he did, shrugging out of his coat. 

 

Woolsey’s dead brother’s room was, in fact, nearly empty. Magnus met Will’s eyes, not making a move to draw a circle or do any other demon-summoning thing he might do. 

 

“You are prepared,” he said, “for this not to work? For the demon to be the wrong one, for the curse to be irreversible?” 

 

Will hesitated. He looked at Magnus, then looked at the floor. “No,” he said. “I’m not.” 

 

Magnus sighed. “At least you’re honest.” He didn’t push the subject. Instead, he scrawled a messy pentagram on the floor, and at each point, a gash opened at his wrist, spilling his blood onto the lines. Chanting something incomprehensible under his breath, he gestured to Casimir, who snorted a small puff of blue flame, igniting the pentagram. 

 

Will blinked despite himself. He hadn’t known that could happen, dragon form or not. 

 

After a moment, Magnus threw the tooth into the pentagram. The flames flared up, and the demon from the party materialized within it with a sound of displaced air. 

 

It looked exactly as he remembered. His skin crawled, and he swallowed hard. 

 

Magnus gestured towards the pentagram with his chin, seemingly indicating that this was under Will’s lead, now. Will nodded. “Do you remember me?” He asked, forcing his voice not to shake. 

 

_ “Of course I remember you,”  _ it said, eyes glaring at him.  _ “You chased me through the grounds of the Lightwood manor. I left a tooth in your flesh.”  _

 

“No,” said Will. “Do you  _ remember  _ me. Years ago, when I freed you from a Pyxis?” 

 

The demon was silent. Magnus cleared his throat. 

 

“Answer,” he said. “And answer truthfully. Or it will go badly for you.” 

 

_ “Oh, very well. Yes, I remember. I was trapped for twenty years, of course I remember the face that freed me. So much like he who bound me there in the first place.”  _

 

Will’s mouth felt very dry. “And do you remember the curse you put upon me?” 

 

A chuckle.  _ “All those who love you will die. Their love will be their destruction. It may take seconds, it may take years, but any who look upon you with love will die of it.”  _

 

Will couldn’t force any words out around the tightness in his throat. “Yes,” said Issalinde, fixing Marbas with an icy stare. She rarely spoke in front of others - very rarely - but Will couldn’t hold it against her. She wanted to be free just as badly as he did. 

 

_ “And so you summoned me to reminisce about this shared event in our past?”  _

 

_ That _ sparked Will’s words. “I summoned you to tell you to take the curse off me. Ella died that night. It’s enough, it’s  _ enough!”  _

 

_ “Do not beg for my pity,”  _ scoffed the demon.  _ “I was twenty years tortured by your father. Perhaps you too should suffer for twenty years, or forty, or -”  _

 

Magnus, at this, raised one hand. It was casual, but Marbas fell silent immediately, with that odd deference demons tended to show Magnus. Will still hadn’t asked him about it. 

 

“Something about this,” he said, “strikes me as odd.” 

 

_ “And what is that?”  _

 

“A demon, upon being freed from something like a Pyxis, is usually at its weakest.” Magnus examined his fingernails, and despite his detached demeanor, a few blue sparks darted between his fingers. “Far too weak to cast a curse so subtle and powerful as that, I’d believe.” 

 

Will’s head jerked around. “But - she died,” he said. “He said he’d begin it with her -” 

 

Magnus fixed his eyes on the demon, as did Casimir. Will felt their silent argument. Finally, Magnus said, “Do you really wish to disobey me, Marbas?” His voice was soft and dangerous. “Do you truly wish to anger my father?” 

 

Marbas hissed, and turned without another word.  _ “The half-caste is correct. The curse was false. Your sister died because I struck her with my stinger.”  _ Its tail twitched.  _ “There has never been a curse upon you, William Herondale, not one put there by me.”  _

 

“No,” said Will, and his voice was lost. “No. No, that’s not possible.” In his mind, he heard Jem’s voice -  _ the wall is coming down.  _ He sank to his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around Issalinde as if she were a lifeline. “No -” 

 

“Are you telling the truth?” Magnus’ voice was sharp. “Do you swear upon Baal that what you say is true?” 

 

_ “I swear,”  _ spat Marbas.  _ “What good would it do me to lie?”  _

 

Will barely heard their exchange. He was thinking of his family, pounding on the door to the Institute. They had lost a daughter and a son in two days, and he had never told them why. And it had been for nothing. The things he had done - his cruelty to Charlotte, to Henry. 

 

Jem and Tessa. Tessa and Jem.  _ Jem is my great sin.  _

 

He clutched at his hair with his hands. Issalinde was making an odd keening noise, still in his lap. A noise of pain. 

 

“Then burn, and die,” said Magnus, steel in his voice, and somewhere at the edge of his vision, flame roared up. Will didn’t look.  _ For nothing. For nothing. Oh god, oh god - _

 

“Will,” said Magnus. He sat on his heels on the floor next to him, and his tone held no amusement - only concern. “Will. I am sorry.” 

 

“Everything I’ve done.” He couldn’t get enough air. He realized dimly that he was breathing, but he couldn’t feel it, no matter how his chest rose and fell. He kept gasping as if the next breath would somehow work as it was supposed to. “Everything I’ve done, for a lie I was  _ idiotic  _ enough to believe.” 

 

“You were a child, and your sister was dead,” said Magnus bluntly. “You are not to blame for that. But do you realize what this means? Your family. Charlotte, Henry. Jem. You believed they could not love you, and their continued survival was proof of it. But they do. You are not so alone as you think.” 

 

“Tessa,” he said, numb. He had so much to apologize for, to her. He had been cruel, over and over -  _ there is no future for a Nephilim who dallies with warlocks. _ And Jem - how could he tell him that Will had risked his life out of weakness, out of selfishness? 

 

“Tessa,” repeated Magnus, with half a smile. “I must say, from what I saw on the balcony, I do believe she rather likes you.” 

 

* * *

 

Magnus stood at the window in Woolsey’s drawing room and watched Will go. He didn’t turn when he felt Woolsey approach and look out from behind him, preferring to watch Will hesitate at the gate as if drawing up his courage to step into the street. 

 

“He doesn’t look very happy,” said Woolsey. 

 

“He has just learned that the thing he believed for years was actually false, and that he has only hurt those he loved by doing what he assumed to be noble.” 

 

“Gracious. Are you certain you’ve helped him?” 

 

“Very,” said Magnus, and Casimir wrapped around his forearm like a piece of jewelry and closed his eyes. “It is a harsh truth, but it was a harsher lie.” 

 

“You cannot save every fallen bird,” said Woolsey. 

 

Magnus leaned back against his chest, feeling his careless laugh. By contrast, though, his own tone when he spoke was serious. 

 

“One will do,” he said. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Lights that Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I haven't died. Life just got a little (well, a lot) crazy. If you're still reading this, I have so much appreciation for you and I hope the Charlotte and Henry fluff helps to make it up to you some. 
> 
> Also, don't worry - the Jem and Tessa proposal will happen. So will something like the scene between Tessa and Will. It's just... going to be a little different.

Charlotte crumpled up the fourth piece of paper and threw it across the room.

 

It didn’t help her mood any. Raimond trotted after it with a long-suffering sigh, picked it back up, and dropped it at her feet. 

 

_ “Maybe,” _ he said, “you don’t like any of them because you know you don’t want to do this.” 

 

“Of course I don’t want to do this,” she grumbled. “But I have to. Better this than… well. Better this than have the Consul come in over our heads and force us out.” She reached for an un-crumpled sheet of paper and started again. 

 

_ I, Charlotte Mary Branwell (n. Fairchild), daughter of Nephilim, do hereby and on this date resign my post as head of the London Institute, on behalf of myself and my husband, Henry Jocelyn Branwell -  _

 

“Charlotte?” The voice wasn’t Raimond’s, and she jumped, smearing her fifth attempt. 

 

“Henry,” she said. He looked exhausted and sad - something in his eyes was weary. Aisling sat in the crook of his elbow, and he had her pulled close to his side. “What is it?” 

 

Henry hesitated, approaching her slowly as if afraid to be rebuffed. “It’s just that I’ve been -” But he broke off, catching sight of the contents of the paper.  _ “Charlotte!”  _ He snatched it up, squinting at the partially obscured letters. “How could you?” 

 

“Better to resign than be forced out,” she repeated, in the same tone she’d used with Raimond. 

 

“Shouldn’t I have at least a say in this?” 

 

“You’ve never taken an interest in the running of the Institute before. Why should you now?” She knew as soon as she spoke that it was too harsh. Raimond made a soft noise of regret, his tail drooping, and Henry looked as if she’d slapped him. 

 

“Charlotte,” he said. “I know you’re angry with me.” She didn’t answer, so he went on. “I know I wouldn’t go with you to see Woolsey Scott, and I get so caught up in my ideas. I’m sorry - I would change it if I could. I just… I want to create something that will make the world better. Just as you do, in directing the Institute. I know I will always come second for you -” 

 

“Second for  _ me?”  _ Charlotte could tell that her voice had shot up to a bizarre squeak, but she couldn’t seem to help it. 

 

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “I knew when you agreed to marry me that it was because you needed to be married to run the Institute, that no one would accept a woman alone. It was never something I held against you -” 

 

“Henry.” She stared at him, and got to her feet, trembling a little. “How can you say such horrible things to me?” 

 

This at least seemed to confuse him. “I thought - that was just how it was?” 

 

“Do you think I don’t know why  _ you  _ married  _ me?”  _ Charlotte was vaguely aware that this was a ridiculous conversation, but the hurt frustration boiled over. “Do you think I don’t know that your family owed mine, and my father promised to forgive the debt if you’d marry me? Why not pay to have his unmarriagable daughter foisted upon some poor boy who was just doing his duty by his family -” 

 

Aisling ran down from Henry’s shoulder, wrapped her hands in Raimond’s fur, and pulled, hard. Charlotte yelped, falling into silence. 

 

“Charlotte,” said Henry.  _ “What in all hell are you talking about?  _ You never said a  _ word  _ about this to me before today!” 

 

“You know very well,” she said, bracing herself against the desk and glaring at Aisling. “So why would I, if it’s nothing you didn’t know?” 

 

“I didn’t, actually,” said Henry, running his hands through his hair. It stood up in endearing messy tufts. “I went to your father in good faith and asked him for your hand in marriage.” 

 

Charlotte froze. She looked to Raimond, and back to Henry. It was true that she’d never spoken of it with him - she hadn’t wanted to hear any stammering denials that would hurt her heart. And hadn’t her father said it? Surely he had. She racked her memory, but Raimond was there in the gap. 

 

“He is a good enough man, better than his father, and you need some sort of a husband,” he said, repeating her father’s words verbatim from when she’d been - oh, eighteen? Perhaps younger? “If you’re going to run the Institute. I’ve forgiven his father’s debts, so that matter is closed between our families.” 

 

He had never said that that was  _ why  _ Henry had asked to marry her. She had merely assumed. And now Henry was shaking his head. 

 

“I know people call me peculiar, or mad. They talk about me as if I weren’t there, as if I’m a half-wit who can’t understand them. But for you to think I’d be so weak-willed - do you even love me at all?” 

 

“Of course I love you!” Her voice was breaking again. “That was never in question.” 

 

“Wasn’t it? You think I don’t hear what people say, that you married me only because you needed someone to pretend to run the Institute while you did the work?” 

 

“And you criticize me for thinking you weak-willed,” said Charlotte, her head spinning as she tried to keep it all straight. “I’d never marry you for a reason like that. I’d give up the Institute in a second before I gave you up.” 

 

Henry stared at her. It had seemed like an obvious thing to say, the natural thing, but he was looking at her as if he’d never dreamed of being told that by anyone. The hope in his eyes seemed like too much to bear. 

 

And then he stepped forward and leaned down and kissed her. She was fairly certain she was crying, but it didn’t seem to matter, and Aisling and Raimond twined around their feet. 

 

“Really?” Henry asked, when they broke apart. They didn’t separate far, with only a few inches between them.

 

“We’ve been married for years, Henry,” she said, with a watery laugh. “How did you  _ think  _ I felt about you?” 

 

“I thought you were fond of me,” he said, with a shrug. “I thought you would grow to love me. In time.” 

 

“That’s what I thought about you,” she said. “How could we have been so stupid?” 

 

“Well. I’m hardly surprised about me. But you should have known better, Lottie.” 

 

Charlotte laughed again, standing on tiptoe to lean her forehead against his. “There’s something else I should tell you -” 

 

But before she could tell him anything, the door to the drawing room slammed open. Will stood there, looking windswept and somewhat manic. Issalinde’s tail was puffed out to twice its size. “Have you seen Tessa?” He said, without any notice of the moment he’d interrupted. Charlotte forced down either a sigh or a laugh. 

 

“She went back to her room once she could leave the infirmary. Will, you should be resting, you’re still injured -” 

 

He waved this away. “Your excellent  _ iratzes  _ worked fine. I only want to see Tessa. Oh, and to ask you -” He stopped for a moment, looking at Charlotte’s desk. Before she could react, he’d snatched the letter up. “Charlotte - no, you can’t!” 

 

“The Clave will find you a house in London,” she said, sighing. “Like the rest of the Enclave. Or, I suppose, you may stay here, though the Lightwoods -” 

 

“I wouldn’t want to live here without you and Henry. What do you think I stay for, the ambiance? I even bloody miss Jessamine. Charlotte, this is our home. Jem’s home. Sophie’s home.” 

 

Charlotte stared at him. He seemed only more energetic. “Are you sure you haven’t a fever?” 

 

_ “Charlotte.  _ Over all these years you’ve done all these things for me as if I was your own blood, and I never said I was grateful. That goes for you too, Henry. But I  _ am  _ grateful, and because of that I won’t let you make this mistake.” 

 

There was a silence as everyone stared at each other, no one certain of what to say. Finally, Charlotte broke it. “Will,” she said, in the same tone he’d used on her name. “It’s over. We have only three days to find Mortmain, and we can’t possibly do it. There’s simply no time.” 

 

“Oh, hang Mortmain,” said Will. “Literally, of course, but also figuratively. That limit was a ridiculous test and a cheat. Benedict’s working for Mortmain, and we all know it, and if we expose him, the Institute is yours, and we can keep searching for him.” 

 

“It’s likely that to expose Benedict is to play into Mortmain’s hands.” 

 

“We can’t do nothing.” When there was silence, Will nodded as if taking this for agreement. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll tell Sophie to round up the others.” He darted out of the room, nearly tripped over Issalinde, and slammed the door behind him, leaving Charlotte and Henry staring at each other. 

 

“Was that  _ Will?”  _ Charlotte said, finally. 

 

“He might have been kidnapped and replaced by an automaton.” 

 

Charlotte didn’t have an answer to that. 

 

* * *

 

When Tessa walked into the drawing room, on Sophie’s request, her head still ached and her legs still felt like they were made of something not quite solid, something that might lose its shape at any given time. She fought to ignore it, and Chali became a wolfdog, big enough to lean upon should she need to. With a grateful smile, she looked around. 

 

Sophie was tending the fire. Charlotte sat at her desk, Henry behind her. Will was sprawled in an armchair, as usual - he looked exhausted, but when he saw her, his face lit up. She flushed, but offered a small smile. 

 

Jem was only a few steps behind her. He looked over at Will from behind her shoulder and smiled as well. “Hallo, Will. Been out in the rain all night while you’re still healing?” 

 

Will shrugged loosely, but gestured for them both to sit in the other armchairs near him. They did, as Charlotte looked over with an exhausted stare. 

 

“Well, we’re all here, then,” she said, making no mention of Jessamine’s absence. “We’re at the end of the two-week period Consul Wayland gave us. We have not found Mortmain. According to Enoch, the Silent Brothers have examined Nathaniel’s body and learned nothing from it, and as he is dead, we can learn nothing from him.” 

 

_ As he is dead.  _ Tessa remembered his hand sliding out of hers, slippery with blood.  _ You don’t know everything I’ve done, Tessie.  _ She forced her mind towards Charlotte’s words with an angry shake of her head. 

 

“We can certainly report what we know about Benedict to the Clave,” she was saying. “It would seem to be the sensible course of action.”

 

“We have enough evidence to put him through a trial by the Sword,” said Will. “That at least should incriminate him -” 

 

“Jessamine had blocks in her mind placed there by Mortmain. That might be the case with Benedict as well. In fact, it almost surely is. We will be further disgraced if the Sword provides nothing.” Charlotte sighed. “I will of course try to convince the Clave of his guilt, and someone else will run the Institute, not Benedict Lightwood. But it will not be me, either.” 

 

There was a clattering sound. Sophie had dropped the fire poker and turned around. “You can’t,” she said. “You - you simply can’t.” 

 

“Sophie,” said Charlotte. Raimond trotted a few steps closer to Sophie, ears and tail drooping. “Wherever we go after this, wherever Henry and I set up our household, you will always be welcome -” 

 

“It’s not that,” Sophie interrupted. “You can’t do this because I - I know what Mortmain’s holding over Mr. Lightwood.  _ Why  _ he’s doing whatever he asks. The Sword won’t produce nothing, I know it.”

 

There was a very dangerous silence. Tessa could tell without needing to look that everyone was thinking the same thing. Spies, betrayal. Jessamine, Nate. 

 

“And how do you know this?” asked Charlotte, her voice very level. 

 

Belden hid himself under Sophie’s cap. She bit her lip, but met Charlotte’s eyes. “Because… well. Because I’ve been.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been stepping out with Gideon Lightwood. Seeing him on my days off. He told me.” 

 

Everyone gaped at her. In the silence, a log fell in the fire. 

 

“Stepping… out? With Gideon Lightwood?” Henry rubbed at his forehead. 

 

“Yes,” said Sophie, hunching her shoulders and lifting her chin. “You have to believe me, he’s not like his father. He learned, when he was in Spain. I’m not just being silly, or being blind - but he only just found out -” 

 

“Well,” said Henry, who looked stunned. “Tell us -” 

 

“Demon pox,” said Sophie. “Benedict Lightwood’s got it. He’s had it for years. It’ll kill him before long, but Mortmain’s been giving him something to cure it.” 

 

The room exploded in a flurry of motion and sound. Charlotte ran over to Sophie, and was questioning her frantically over the hubbub of voices. Henry called after Charlotte as Jem looked back and forth between Charlotte and Sophie so quickly that he didn’t seem to look at either of them. Will, meanwhile, seemed to be composing an original song about how he had been right about the existence of demon pox the entire time. 

 

_ “Demon pox, oh demon pox, I had it all along - no, not the pox, you foolish blocks, I mean this very song - for I was right, and you were wrong!”  _

 

“Will!” Charlotte snapped, turning away from Sophie for a moment. “Have you lost your mind? Be quiet! Jem -” 

 

Jem got to his feet and clapped his hands over Will’s mouth from behind. “Do you promise to stop singing?” 

 

Will nodded, his eyes positively glittering with manic amusement, and kissed Jem’s palm. Tessa glanced worriedly towards Charlotte, but she was far too preoccupied to have noticed. Issalinde, equally giddy, flopped over onto her back next to Mela, purring loudly as her tail twitched. Tessa stared at them. She’d seen Will amused before, or sarcastic, but never quite like this. When Jem released him, he sank back to the floor, his back against the armchair, and declared “A demon pox on all your houses!” before yawning widely. 

 

“Weeks of pox jokes,” muttered Jem. “We’re in for it now.” 

 

“How do we know that Gideon Lightwood wasn’t lying?” asked Charlotte, apparently refusing to concern herself with Will at the moment. “I’m sorry to say it, Sophie, but they can’t be trusted.” 

 

“I’ve seen Gideon’s face when he looks at her,” said Will, just as apparently refusing to be ignored. “He’s smitten. And besides, it makes sense. Benedict Lightwood had a demon woman all over him at the party. And since the only way to contract demon pox is by having improper relations with a demon…” 

 

“Nate told me that Benedict preferred demon women,” said Tessa. “I doubt his wife ever knew about  _ that.”  _

 

Jem knit his brows, and Kasimela stumbled up onto her back feet in seeming shock. “Wait,” he said, and his voice was urgent. “Will, what are the symptoms of demon pox, exactly?” 

 

“Quite nasty,” said Will, with relish. “It starts with a shield-shaped rash on your back, which then spreads across the body, creating cracks and fissures in the skin until -” 

 

“I’ll return,” said Jem, and ran out of the room without any further comment. 

 

Understandably, this only added to the confusion. 

 

“You don’t suppose  _ he  _ has demon pox, do you?” suggested Henry, once they had all finished staring after him in silence.

 

“Oh, hush,” said Will, who was now laying on his back on the rug and giggling while Issalinde chased shadows. Tessa’s head, still tender, was pounding now. Chali pressed a cold nose to her forehead, but it didn’t help much. 

 

But then Jem was back, clutching a sheaf of papers in one hand. “I got these from the Silent Brothers,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him. “When Tessa and I went to see Jessamine. When Charlotte said her father hadn’t betrayed Silas Penhallow to the Clave and that Benedict had lied, I thought he might have lied that Barbara Lightwood died of grief.” 

 

“And did he?” Tessa leaned forward. 

 

“He did. It’s true that she slit her wrists. But when they examined the body, see -  _ a shield-shaped marking upon the left shoulder, indicative of the heraldic marks of astriola.  _ Astriola, demon pox.” 

 

“By the Angel,” said Charlotte. “She killed herself because her husband gave her demon pox. And she knew it.” 

 

Will was lifting his head to scrutinize the papers. “You had evidence that demon pox existed and you didn’t tell me?  _ Et tu, Brute?”  _

 

“I thought it was a minor ailment! Not a reason to cut your wrists - it doesn’t say anything about how it’s contracted. But…” 

 

“Wouldn’t the Brothers be obligated to tell someone?” demanded Henry. Aisling had seized more of the papers and was chattering over them. 

 

“They’d tell Benedict,” said Charlotte, realization dawning on her face. “Her husband. Who’d say ‘Horrors’ and conceal the whole thing, and you can’t prosecute the dead.” 

 

“So Benedict is still alive only because of Mortmain…” said Tessa. “Even if we can blackmail him, he won’t give him up.” 

 

Will shook his head from the floor. “No, he will. If Charlotte goes to him, makes it sound like she’s going to grovel for more time, plays to his pride, then threatens to tell the Clave if he doesn’t withdraw his challenge? If we expose him, he’ll be tried for not only murder, but murder through demonic means. As well as treason, for that matter. His runes will be stripped from him, he’ll become Forsaken. His sons and daughter will become mundanes, the name Lightwood will be burned from the roster. He would listen to blackmail.” Having delivered this speech, he rolled over and pillowed his head on his arm, seemingly content to fall asleep directly in front of the fire.

 

“And if he doesn’t?” That was Jem, nudging at Will’s shoulder to keep him awake.  

 

“Then we’ve lost nothing,” said Charlotte. “We’ll go and speak with him. Or I will, and Will and Tessa, as witnesses to the party. Henry, Jem, you aren’t obligated - in fact, someone ought to stay and make sure the Institute is guarded.” 

 

Jem frowned, but nodded, before giving Tessa a regretful smile and squeezing her hand. There was a warm reassurance to it, and Chali’s tail thumped from where he sat on the carpet. 

 

“So you’ve decided on my plan?” said Will. 

 

“You may accompany me,” said Charlotte, “but you’ll follow my lead, and there will be no talk of demon pox until I say so.” 

 

“But - but -” Will turned to Tessa for help, sitting up. “She’s  _ annexed  _ my plan!” 

 

When no help from Tessa - or anyone else - was forthcoming, he sighed, dragged himself to his feet, and nodded. “Oh, all right.” 

 

Tessa half-smiled, and turned to go, intending to clean her face. She had no doubt that she was still weary and pale, and she didn’t want Benedict striking for any weakness he could see like the snake he was. But before she could do more than reach the hall, Will was following her, dragging a confused Jem by the arm. 

 

“Tessa,” he said, and his hair was mussed, and he looked just as bad as she expected she did, and for whatever reason, it made her heart swell with affection. “We should talk. We really all three should talk.” Issalinde, purring, leaned up against Chali’s side. He became a cat again, nuzzling at her, and Mela watched with a contented sound. 

 

“Right now?” Jem and Tessa exchanged a look. Jem’s expression said that if Will was finally going to talk, perhaps they should encourage him, and Tessa was inclined to agree, but the situation was… hardly ideal. Tessa felt her mouth twist, indecisive. “Charlotte wants us to hurry… are you all right, Will?” 

 

“Are you really that pleased?” Added Jem with a half-smile, its power not at all diminished for all that only one side of his mouth moved. “You say ‘demon pox’ like someone else would say ‘massive surprise inheritance.’” 

 

“I am vindicated, not pleased, but this isn’t about the demon pox, this is about the three of us.” 

 

From behind the door to the drawing room, Tessa heard Charlotte rummaging through drawers as she wrote a note to Benedict telling him to expect them. “Will, we don’t have time. Heaven knows I want to talk to you, and I hope Jem does as well, but it has to be after we get back.” 

 

“It does?” said Will, who seemed preoccupied with staring at her. “You do?” 

 

“Yes,” said Jem, and put a hand on his arm. “Will, you’re already half asleep on your feet. The last thing you need is to rush a talk while you’re preoccupied with everything else.” 

 

“I’m preoccupied with nothing,” Will muttered. “This is the most important thing I’ve ever wanted to do.” He yawned, ruining the seriousness of his statement, and Jem sighed an affectionate sigh before reaching for his stele to mark Will with an Energy rune. Tessa watched. She never seemed to grow bored with watching them draw runes on each other, like the lines had always been there and they were merely finding them. 

 

It seemed to revive Will a bit, at least. He smiled gratefully at Jem, but then the door was opening, and Charlotte was ushering Will and Tessa towards the carriage, leaving Jem looking after them with a slightly wistful look in his eyes. 


	18. Souls

 

It was going to rain. The air over London had that particular sort of pre-storm energy that made Tessa’s skin prickle and set her ever so slightly on edge. 

 

Or perhaps, she had to admit, that was just the situation as a whole. Cyril had driven them not to the manor, but to a small townhouse she hadn’t seen before, and its unfamiliarity seemed to press in on her, making her less sure of herself than she’d have liked. 

 

She looked to Charlotte, who was straight-backed and poised as ever, and tried to model herself in her image as they were ushered in and to a small library. The drapes were pulled, so the room was only lit with firelight and the few witchlight sconces, and Benedict Lightwood sat at a tall desk in the dimness, his sons on either side. Gideon was leaning forward, arms crossed, looking down at the floor with little expression. Gabriel merely looked amused. 

 

“Charlotte,” Benedict said. “Will. Miss Gray. Always a pleasure.” 

 

“Thank you,” said Charlotte, Raimond well-behaved at her side. “For seeing us on such short notice.” 

 

“Of course. But you do know that there’s nothing I can do to change the course of this. It’s the Council’s decision, not mine.” 

 

Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “Indeed, Benedict. But if you hadn’t forced the Consul into making a show of disciplining me, this would not have happened.” 

 

He shrugged elegantly, spreading one arm out. His sleeve pulled a little away from his wrist, and his daemon, Tessa noticed, was still curled around it in a tight coil. “I am fond of you, Charlotte, if you believe it or not. I remember when you were a child. But you are not fit to run an Institute.” 

 

Charlotte didn’t even flinch. “I see,” she said. “So, if you rescinded your claim, and I was to continue as Head of the London Institute, it would be so terrible?” 

 

“Well, we’ll never know, will we?” 

 

It was almost a perfect opening. Tessa had to hide her smile. Chali, back to himself, fluttered his wings. 

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “I think the Council members would choose me over one who fraternizes with demons.” 

 

Benedict didn’t give them a reaction. He merely arched one eyebrow. “Baseless accusations,” he said. “Rumors.”  

 

“Truth,” said Charlotte. “And observation. Will and Tessa were both at one of your parties, and can testify to what they’ve seen.

 

Will waved a hand. “That woman you were lounging with on the divan, with snakes for eyes. Just a business associate?” 

 

“One doesn’t usually let one’s business associates lick one’s face,” muttered Tessa, and saw Will’s mouth turn up at the corner. 

 

Benedict still seemed unruffled. “All three of you are quite foolish,” he said. “They won’t believe your lies. A downworlder’s word is worthless, and you” - a nod to Will - “are a certifiable lunatic and drunkard. When they test me under the Sword and I refute your claims, who do you think will be believed?” 

 

So there were blocks in his mind, Tessa thought idly. Or, something Mortmain had done, that he didn’t fear being compelled to speak the truth. “There is other evidence,” she said. 

 

“Oh?” 

 

“The evidence of your own poisoned blood,” said Charlotte. “How far has the corruption spread?” 

 

“What is she talking about?” Gabriel spoke, then, and his voice was full of fury and nerves. He looked to Benedict, expecting an answer, an explanation. “Father?” 

 

_ “Demon pox,”  _ said Will, with the satisfaction of the truly vindicated. 

 

“Demon pox?” asked Benedict, but his voice was strained. “What a disgusting accusation.” 

 

“Refute it, then,” said Charlotte. “Roll up your sleeve and show us your arms. Move Aethelina from your skin and show your sons the truth.” 

 

A muscle at the side of Benedict’s mouth twitched. There was silence, in which no one quite knew what to say, and then he whirled on Gideon, lip curling. “You,” he said. “You told them. You betrayed me.” 

 

“I did,” said Gideon, lifting his head. “And I would again.” 

 

Gabriel looked between his brother and his father, eyes wide. “Gideon? What are you talking about?” 

 

Benedict didn’t answer him. “Gideon Arthur Lightwood,” he said, and his lips were tight, his voice soft and dangerous. “I suggest you think very carefully about what you have done, and what you will do next.” 

 

“I have been thinking.” Niranthia stood beside him, her coat almost the same shade as his hair, and together they stared Benedict down without faltering. “I’ve been thinking ever since you called me back from Spain. As a child, I believed everyone lived as we did. It isn’t the Nephilim’s way, father - it’s  _ your  _ way. You have brought shame onto our family name.” 

 

“There’s no need to be melodramatic -” 

 

“Melodramatic?” Contempt was creeping into Gideon’s tone. “Father, I fear for the future of the Enclave if you get your hands on the Institute. I am telling you now, I will witness against you. I will hold the Sword in my hands and tell Consul Wayland that I think Charlotte Branwell, for all her faults, is a thousand times more fit than you are to run an Institute. I will reveal what goes on here at night to every member of the Council. I will tell them you are working for Mortmain, and I will tell them  _ why.” _

 

“Gideon!” Gabriel’s voice was sharp. His daemon made a harsh, angry sound from his shoulder. “You know it was Mother’s wish. You know it’s the Fairchilds who were to blame -” 

 

“That is a lie,” said Charlotte, calm but unyielding. “If she took her own life, it was not because of anything my father did. In fact, it may be because of something  _ your  _ father did.” 

 

“What do you mean? Why would you say such a thing?” 

 

“Be quiet, Gabriel,” snapped Benedict, and Gabriel’s mouth slammed shut, his shoulders drooping. “Charlotte, what are you saying?” 

 

“You know very well what I’m saying. The question is whether you wish me to say it to others. To your children, to the Clave.” 

 

He sat back. “I know blackmail when I hear it. What is it you want?” 

 

Will spoke, leaning forward. His eyes glittered with a sort of excitement. “Withdraw your claim on the Institute. Give them some reason or other for it. You’re a clever man, I’m sure you’ll think of something. And we need to know where Mortmain is, and how you’ve been communicating with him.” 

 

When Benedict laughed, it was raspy and harsh. “I communicated with him through Nathaniel Gray. But since you’ve been so unkind as to kill him, I doubt he’ll be a forthcoming source of information for you.” 

 

“You mean,” said Charlotte, her face falling, “that  _ no one  _ else knew where he was?” 

 

“Well, I certainly don’t,” said Benedict. “He is not that foolish, unfortunately for you.” He turned, then, fixing Gideon with an icy glare. “And I wish to make one thing clear to my son. If you support Charlotte Branwell in this, you will not be welcome under my roof.” 

 

Gideon didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he slipped a ring from his finger - a Nephilim family ring, with a design of flames around the band. He set it down gently on the edge of his father’s desk, and turned to his brother. 

 

“Well?” he asked, without hesitation. 

 

Gabriel flinched. “You know I can’t.” 

 

“You can.” 

 

Benedict paled. He was gripping the edge of his desk, and his daemon Aethelina had moved to twine around his neck, leaving his wrist bare. It was very pale, covered with black circular welts, and as Tessa stared, he shook his sleeve over it without a second look at her. 

 

“Please,” Gideon said. “Come with me.” 

 

Gabriel looked as if he were about to cry. Tessa had never liked him, but his expression pulled at her heart. “Who will take care of Father? What will people say about our family if we both abandon him? Who will manage -” 

 

“I don’t know,” said Gideon plainly. “But it doesn’t need to be you.” 

 

Gabriel’s voice shook. “Family before Law,” he said, with the tone of someone repeating a long-learned lesson. Without another word, he went to stand behind Benedict’s chair, staring down at the floor.

 

Charlotte rose to her feet, nodding. “We will see you tomorrow in the Council chamber, Benedict. I trust you’ll know what to do.” She swept from the room, Gideon and Will on her heels. 

 

Tessa looked back at Gabriel for a moment. She couldn’t help it, remembering that he had been the one to teach her to defend herself. But when he wouldn’t meet her eyes, or look up at all, she turned as well to go. 

 

* * *

 

The storm still hadn’t broken by the time they reached the Institute. Heavy clouds seemed to press in from all directions. 

 

Gideon hadn’t said a word on the carriage ride back, merely staring out the window despite Charlotte’s attempts to speak to him. Once the doors opened, he descended slowly, as if unsure what he was going to do now. Charlotte beckoned him, saying something about a room, and dinner, and of course tea, gesturing with her hands. 

 

Will jumped from the carriage, his mood seemingly undampened by the ominous clouds, and reached to help Tessa down, grinning. She returned the smile as she offered him her hand. 

 

“Charlotte will be blathering on at him about how grateful she is for hours,” he said. “Come on, Jem will never believe that scene. It’s one thing to tell secrets to Sophie, but that Gideon would turn on his father like that? He threw away his ring, Tess.” He half-pulled her through the doors. 

 

“It’s as you said,” she said. “You know how he looks at her. People will do anything for love.” 

 

Will smiled. Not a smirk, or a grimace, or even a grin, but a real smile. “Amazing, isn’t it?” His tone was sincere, so sincere she almost doubted it. When was Will genuine about anything? 

 

But she saw no hint of sarcasm in his face, so she squeezed his hand and let him lead her into the drawing room. 

 

Jem was there, in front of the fire, turning a stele over in his hands. He looked up when they came in, curiosity and relief on his face. “Tessa. Will. Did it work?” 

 

Will closed the door, crossed the room in a few long bounds, and kissed him. Jem startled, then pulled back a little to laugh against Will’s mouth. Will looked at him for a moment, and then turned back to Tessa and pulled her into his arms, seeming unsure of which one of them he most wanted to stare at. 

 

Tessa wrapped her arms around this new, giddy, overwhelmed Will, and kissed him as well, feeling more than hearing Jem’s gentle laugh from behind her. And perhaps  _ this  _ was what she had felt in the attic so long ago, this feeling that things were going to be all right. That as long as she could stay like this, Will’s mouth moving over hers and Jem behind her, things were going to be all right. 

 

Eventually, she broke away. “You said we were going to talk,” she said, to distract herself from wondering if she would be able to taste Jem on his lips and tongue if she kissed him again. “And I am not letting you get out of talking about this just because you want to kiss me.” 

 

Will laughed. For a moment, he only laughed, and then his face grew serious. 

 

“I need to tell you something,” he said. Tessa didn’t say anything about how yes, Will, that was the point. She didn’t say anything at all. Instead she gathered her skirts and sat on the rug in front of the fire, tilted her head, and settled in to listen. Jem sat beside her and took her hand, and Will knelt beside them both, in the loose triangle they’d once used to spy on an Enclave meeting. Mela, Chali, and Issalinde sat with them, not playing or talking as they usually did, merely… watching. Waiting for something. Will swallowed hard. 

 

“When I was young,” he said, hesitant. “A child. Living in Wales. I found a Pyxis my father had kept, and I opened it. I don’t know why he kept it, what use it possibly could have served. But I opened it, and there was a demon. Marbas. It cursed me, told me that anyone who loved me would die. I wouldn’t have believed it, I wasn’t well-versed in magic, but my older sister, Ella, she died that night. I thought it was the beginning of the curse. So I fled here.” 

 

He gestured around at the drawing room. “I didn’t realize I was running into another family,” he said, with a shaky laugh. “Charlotte, Henry, even bloody Jessamine. I had to keep pushing them away, keep being cruel to them, because they kept trying to show me kindness. I thought they’d be in danger. I had to hold them at arm’s length, those I couldn’t push away entirely.” 

 

Tessa stared at him. All of a sudden, things seemed to make more sense. The sharp rudeness, the stories of people who Will had wronged or insulted. Charlotte, in the study -  _ All we’ve ever done is love you, Will,  _ and his reply,  _ I wish you wouldn’t.  _ But that meant - 

 

She turned to look at Jem. Will half-shrugged, almost hopelessly. “There was no curse. There was never any curse, I was tricked, and I am so sorry,” he whispered, and he couldn’t seem to meet either of their eyes. “Tessa, I am sorry for what I said on the roof. I know I hurt you, because I meant to hurt you, and you don’t need to forgive me, but I’m still asking, I -” he shook his head, and seemed to shrink in on himself still further. Issalinde pressed herself into his side, shaking slightly. “James,” he said, and looked as if he was bracing himself for Jem’s anger. “I put you in danger. I thought - I believed -” 

 

“You believed,” said Jem, and the gentleness in his voice was so much that Tessa felt as though she could cry, “that since I was dying already, it would not work on me.” 

 

Wretchedly, shoulders shaking, Will nodded. “I - I couldn’t. I saw you and I wanted to make you laugh, I thought - I thought perhaps through me, you wouldn’t -” 

 

He didn’t seem able to say the words, so Jem said them for him. “I would have a quicker death. Less pain.” He didn’t go on after that, didn’t give reassurance or furious words. He merely waited, and listened. 

 

“James,” said Will again, as Tessa looked in Jem’s face for a reaction, for anger or betrayal or love or all of them at once. “Tess. I… I would understand, if you hate me. I would not blame you for it.” 

 

Tessa wanted to speak, to give words to the ache in her heart, but Chali shook his head from where he had perched on her shoulder as his usual goldfinch. 

 

“Not yet,” he said. “Let them speak first. There will be time.” 

 

So she held her tongue, and watched, and listened. 

 

“I could never hate you, William,” said Jem after a moment, and reached out his hand to touch Will’s chest, the  _ parabatai  _ rune over his heart. “I have never hated you, and will never do any less than love you. ‘As long as we both shall live,’ isn’t it?” He smiled. “My Will.” 

 

Tears beaded in Will’s eyes, and Tessa reached out before she could stop herself to wipe them away. He leaned into her hand. “I deserve your hatred,” he said, his voice quiet, but gaining force. “I put you in danger. I cared for you, I became your  _ parabatai.  _ I  _ kissed  _ you, I made you love me -”  

 

“Do you think so little of me?” asked Jem, but there was no bite in his voice. “I did not fall in love with you because you made me. I knew you had a secret, that you believed yourself poison to those around you. That you thought there was some force around you that would break me. I meant to show you that I would not break. That love was not so fragile. Did I do that?” 

 

Kasimela looked up into Will’s face. Will, who was weeping, who was still leaning into Tessa’s hand, and Jem’s. After a moment, he slumped forward, leaning his head onto Jem’s collarbone. 

 

“You saved my life,” he said. 

 

Jem threaded his fingers through Will’s hair and smiled. 

 

“Then that,” he said, “is all I wanted.” 

 

Tessa watched them, her throat thick. For a moment, she wondered if she should slip away, if this comfort was even meant for her eyes to see. But the moment she made as if to move, Will reached out for her. 

 

“Tess,” he said, sitting up and smiling crookedly, wiping his eyes. “I know I have given you every reason -” 

 

“Do not even try to finish that sentence, William Herondale,” she said. “If you still doubt that I love you after all of this, you are a fool. I love your laughter and your ridiculous rhymes and talking to you about books, and now I can’t manage to hate you, even if I try.” 

 

She didn’t think it was a pretty speech, or much of a declaration of love. But Will’s face, when he looked at her, was filled with a hope and a joy that almost hurt for how  _ much  _ it all seemed. 

 

“Tessa,” he said again. “I love you, and I have loved you since almost the moment I met you.” 

 

“I hit you with a jug.” 

 

“That would be why I said almost, of course,” said Will, with a watery laugh. Tessa realized vaguely that she was crying, too, but she couldn’t seem to care. She reached for Jem’s hand, feeling his warmth, and almost felt embarrassed. That she was listening to how Will loved her, telling him how she loved him in return, and Jem was there, listening to it all.  _ Knowing.  _

 

But he was entwined with them just as much as they were with him. She couldn’t imagine this  _ without  _ him there. 

 

So she looked up at him, hopeful and quiet, and he smiled. 

 

“I can offer you my heart,” said Jem, “though I don’t know how much longer it will beat. I can offer you anything, if you will have me.” 

 

“I only want you as yourself,” said Tessa. “No dramatic courting because you think you have to win me over. I want… I want to stay with you, Jem. To be happy with you. Is that… would you?” She didn’t seem to be able to find the words she wanted. 

 

But it turned out that didn’t matter, because she leaned forward and kissed Jem instead. 

 

He pulled her close, though Will was still leaning against him, so they kissed over him, and if the three of them were all weeping, then, no one seemed to mind. 

 

When they broke away, Jem pulled a necklace from his pocket. He was flushed, in the same endearing way he often was. “Tessa,” he said. “I… I wanted you to have this.” It was a pendant, made of jade like the one Will had given to him. But instead of a closed hand, it was a circle, around which words were written that she couldn’t read. “It isn’t just… it was given to my mother by my father when they were married.” 

 

He looked almost afraid that she would turn it down, would refuse it. As if she could ever imagine doing such a thing, seeing what it meant to him. She didn’t fully understand all of its value to him, she knew - perhaps she never would, perhaps neither she nor Will would. But she didn’t need to. A flare of happiness warmed her as she pulled the necklace over her head, only to double when Jem’s eyes lit with a disbelieving joy. 

 

She had made him this happy, she realized, and a few more tears spilled over.  _ She  _ had made him this happy, just by loving him in return, and the fact of her love for him meant that his happiness made her own heart ache with affection. 

 

So it seemed natural, as easy as breathing, when Chalivan flew to Jem and alit on his hand. 

 

It was… almost frightening, the sudden wave of vulnerability that swept over her. But a warmth came with it, of love, of trust. Everything was so  _ much _ , she thought, hazy. It was all Jem, in all her senses, everywhere. The shock and kindness in Jem’s eyes, the love, the care - it was worth it. 

 

Jem ran his fingers through Chali’s feathers, and she trembled a little. Will leaned out from between them, wrapping one arm around her waist, snapping her attention back to him for a moment. He was watching her, fascinated, entranced. 

 

“There really aren’t words for it, are there?” he said, and she leaned into his shoulder, shaking through the sudden love she could feel. 

 

“No,” she said, and Jem looked at her with his silver eyes. Watching the love that was there, feeling it in every breath, Tessa tried to find the words. 

 

After a moment, she decided she didn’t need them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what happens when you talk about things? 
> 
> I hope it lived up to any and all expectations, but there is more to come. People will become affianced to other people. Daemons will do mystical things. Nephilim intrigue will continue. 
> 
> I love comments, and especially for this chapter, I'd love to know what you think!


	19. Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - I live. I have excuses at the end, but if you're not here for those, I hope this shortish chapter of fluff will help.

 

The three of them hadn’t wanted to leave the drawing room floor. They sat there for what must have been hours, talking quietly, Tessa’s fingers in Jem’s hair, Will’s head on her shoulder.

 

How had she gotten so lucky, she wondered, but didn’t say. The jade pendant was cool around her neck, a comforting weight next to her angel necklace. 

 

They had to disentangle themselves to go to dinner. Tessa missed them, as if she had become touch-starved in the few moments they’d been separated. She scolded herself internally, but couldn’t stop herself from looking at Jem or Will, just to see them smile at her in that way that said,  _ I know.  _ Chali, Issalinde, and Mela didn’t want to separate, either, and sat as close to each other as they could while maintaining the illusion that everything was normal.

 

Charlotte was preoccupied with telling Henry about Benedict, so if they were all three smiling a little more than could be expected, no one noticed. Gideon was awkwardly looking around, unsure of his place, as Bridget served food. Sophie had vanished somewhere, and that left no one to notice a glance that lasted too long, or a bright smile out of nowhere. 

 

Then dinner was over, and Tessa vanished rather regretfully to her room. Sophie was waiting there, cleaning with a strained expression. 

 

“Sophie!” Chali tilted his head as Tessa spoke. “I was worried about you, are you all right?” 

 

“Quite,” she said, aggressively dusting the curtains. None of the curtains needed dusting. 

 

“I can do that myself, Sophie, it’s all right -” 

 

“No, miss, I’d rather keep busy.” 

 

Tessa raised one eyebrow, but didn’t press, instead finding a nightgown in the wardrobe. “It must be nice that Gideon’s going to live here,” she said, keeping her tone light. “He’ll be so close to you.” 

 

It was the wrong thing to say. Belden’s eyes drooped closed, and Sophie’s filled with tears. “It’ll be the worst thing in the world,” she said, as Tessa froze, concern managing to cut through the warmth of her mood. 

 

“Why?” 

 

“If he lives here, he’ll see me as I really am. As a servant. I hardly expected him to love a mundane anyway, but he’ll see me doing up his fire, fetching washing - I’m not on his level, and I’m fooling myself to pretend otherwise.” She moved from the curtains to the cedar chest, which was also remarkably dust-free. Chali made a soft noise of concern, but Belden didn’t react to him at all. 

 

“If he loves you, he won’t mind all that,” said Tessa, hoping the words didn’t sound empty. She  _ didn’t _ know Gideon, not well, didn’t know for certain that he wouldn’t mind.

 

“Everyone minds all that,” said Sophie, echoing her thoughts. “They’re not as noble as you might think.” She sighed. “Even if I were Nephilim, which I’m not. It will never work.” 

 

“Do you  _ want _ to be Nephilim?” Tessa was curious.

 

“I always have.” The duster moved still faster. “I don’t mention it much. I used to daydream, think that if I married Mister Jem or something of the sort -” she laughed. It was strained, but real. “You haven’t broken his heart, have you?” 

 

Tessa knew her feelings showed on her face. She hid behind the nightgown. “No,” she said, and even she could hear the smile in her voice. “I haven’t broken his heart at all.” 

 

* * *

 

After Sophie left, Tessa made an honest effort to sleep. 

 

It didn’t work. 

 

Chali fluttered around the room, and after a while of wishing she was back in the drawing room with Will and Jem, she climbed out of bed and crossed the hall. A brief thought of what her aunt would say about her creeping off to the bedroom of a man she wasn’t married to - a bedroom in which yet  _ another  _ man would be - crossed her mind, but her only reaction was a quiet laugh. Nothing in the Nephilim’s life was proper. She’d established this long ago. 

 

There was no violin music to guide her this time, but the door still opened beneath her touch.

 

Only one witchlight was lit, and Will was sitting on Jem’s bed, reading by it. Jem was watching him and tracing patterns idly on the blanket near where Mela and Issalinde lay curled up together. They all looked up when the door opened. 

 

Suddenly, ‘I missed you’ seemed like a preposterous thing to say. Tessa blushed and shrugged, frantically wondering what she could say in its place. “I didn’t want to sleep there when I could be here,” was what she decided on, which was little better, but Jem’s smile was as soft and brilliant as ever. 

 

“Will was going to go and find you,” he said. 

 

“He told me you might take it as a compromise of your virtue,” said Will. “So really, it’s his fault that we didn’t.” 

 

“And yet my virtue remains uncompromised,” said Tessa, only to realize the implications of what she’d said. “Ah, that is, I’d rather it remains uncompromised for now. I only… I missed you.” 

 

Damn it. She’d said it after all. 

 

But Will just grinned, that new, disbelieving happiness shining in his face. “Come sit with us, angel.” 

 

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” she asked, sliding into place on the corner of the bed. Chali became a red fox and nosed his way into the pile of Mela and Issalinde, who seemed delighted. 

 

“It fits,” Will defended himself, and set the book aside. It was  _ A Tale of Two Cities,  _ Tessa saw, and felt her heart swell. “I could call you Boadicea instead.” 

 

“Tess or Tessa will do nicely,” she said, and leaned into Jem’s side. He pulled her closer, and she smiled. His breathing was a little less even than usual, she noticed, but his heartbeat was strong. Will stared at them both with a slight smile on his face, and then yawned widely, making Jem laugh. 

 

“Now that you’re here, perhaps he’ll actually sleep more than one night a week,” he said. 

 

“You ask too much of me,” was Will’s reply, around another yawn. “I have a reputation to keep up -” He broke off. “I suppose I don’t have a reputation to keep up anymore. The world is inside-out.” This seemed to delight him. With another grin, remarkable for the lack of bitterness in it, he kicked his boots off and stretched out on the bed. “Are you going to spend the night, Tess?” 

 

She fixed them both with a set stare. “Are either of you going to throw me out?” 

 

They had the grace to look abashed. Or, Will at least did. Jem smiled a smile that made her feel dizzy. She’d always thought that was a romantic cliche, but she actually did feel slightly dizzy when he turned that smile on her. Perhaps it was the still-healing wound to the head. She ignored it, and curled up between them.

 

Mela extinguished the witchlight, and for a moment, everything was perfect. 

 

When she awoke again, it was the small hours of the morning, and Chali, still a fox, was gripping the sleeve of her nightgown in his mouth, pulling at her arm. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell where she was - but there was Jem’s arm around her, and Will’s warmth at her back. Of course. She looked down at Chali, who tilted his head towards Jem. 

 

Jem was coughing in his sleep. His breathing was labored, as if he couldn’t get enough air. He didn’t wake, only rasping out another breath that she could feel against her own chest.

 

Panicked, Tessa turned over, intending to wake Will. But he was already awake, his eyes reflecting a tiny amount of moonlight. 

 

“What do we do?” she whispered. 

 

Will shook his head. Without a word, he climbed out of bed and slipped back in the other side, so he was behind Jem, something solid and sure, and wrapped an arm over his waist. The bed wasn’t really big enough, so this pushed Tessa to the edge, but she couldn’t care. Jem still didn’t wake. 

 

“We wait,” said Will, and there was something terrible in his expression. 

 

Tessa buried her face in Jem’s chest, inhaled the burned-sugar smell of the drug on his skin, and tried to match her breathing to his. To somehow encourage the air to fill his lungs. 

 

Time passed like this. Eventually, Jem sat up, coughs racking his frame, and his eyes flew open. 

 

They were terrified, wide in his face. It took several moments before a breath found its way back out, and only then did the confused, aimless fear in his eyes dissipate somewhat. He sighed, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. 

 

“I am sorry -” he began, in a low voice. 

 

“If you apologize,” said Tessa flatly, “I will cry. I won’t be able to help it.” 

 

“We can’t have that,” added Will from Jem’s other side, trying for levity, and Jem lay back down, slowly. His breaths rasped somewhere deep in his chest, but they came easier now. 

 

He still looked as if he wanted to apologize, but Tessa had been serious. She didn’t know how Will lived with the fear of it, the fear of losing him at any time, but she knew that it was part of loving Jem, and she wouldn’t trade it away. 

 

Mela curled up on Jem’s chest, and Issalinde joined her. Chali, as well, with only a slight hesitation, trying to lend him his warmth. 

 

They were quiet, for a long time. 

 

Tessa was the one to speak first, when she thought they’d drifted back to sleep. 

 

“What are we going to do?” she asked, quiet. “In future? How will this ever work? Are we going to get a big house to fill with books and violin music and sunlight?” 

 

Will sighed. “Even by our standards, people would talk. It’s another thing for them to discredit Charlotte with.”

  
Tessa, not realizing he was awake, jumped slightly. “Then, what?” she asked. “Am I expected to marry one of you, pretend I don’t love the other, pretend you two don’t love each other?” she sighed. “Who would be happy with that?” 

 

“You might have to,” said Will, rather grimly. “If Charlotte loses the Institute, they might assign Jem and I to other Institutes, other places. They wouldn’t separate  _ parabatai,  _ but if they try to send us to Idris… you wouldn’t be able to follow. Not unless there were something tying you to us.” Tessa knew without being able to see him, in the dark, that his mouth was twisted in annoyance. Annoyance with the Clave, with the world as a whole. 

 

“You wouldn’t want to marry me?” She asked, trying for teasing. It fell flat. 

 

“To marry you would be the greatest gift you could ever give me,” said Will, and there was so much sincerity in his voice that she felt a lump in her throat. “But without him…” 

 

Tessa nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Not without him.” 

 

Jem chuckled, also apparently awake, and then winced when that sparked another cough. “Well, I think marrying me would be a poor bet, considering I’d leave you a widow. A widow and a widower, I suppose.” 

 

Tessa didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. 

 

“I doubt it will come to that, but if it does, you could marry Will,” Jem went on, as nonchalant as if they were back in the train car, planning out how to deceive Starkweather. It seemed so long ago, now. 

 

“No,” said Will. “You should marry Jem.” 

 

Jem scowled. Tessa sighed, looking at them both. 

 

“I am not going to lay here while you two argue over who I should marry,” she said, despite the fact that she seemed to be doing just that. She rested her head on Jem’s shoulder, careful not to jostle him, and wrapped one arm around his waist, so that her forearm rested over Will’s. “We could grow old and never marry, and live in a shack somewhere, before I gave one of you up.” 

 

Jem’s breath rattled a bit in his chest, and he wrapped one arm around each of them. “Then perhaps,” he said, “we will all marry. We will live in the Institute, or in some distant corner of the world where people cannot find us to think ill of us, and life will go on this way.” He smiled down at Tessa, and she felt her heart warm a bit. Jem, lovely understanding Jem, who had seen that what she needed, instead of a plan, was a dream, a reassurance. “It would be a better life than I ever dreamed I could have.” 

 

Will laughed a shaky laugh. “Perhaps I should be saying that, as well,” he murmured. 

 

“What would we tell them?” asked Tessa. 

 

“We wouldn’t,” said Will, and Issalinde’s eyes slid to him and then away. Tessa watched them reflect what little light was in the room. “Jem and I never told anyone anything, after all. They merely… knew. And Charlotte and Henry saw what happened in the warehouse.” 

 

Tessa had forgotten that, in the whirl of emotions surrounding it all. She nodded.

 

“It is a selfish thing to ask of you,” said Jem. “You needn’t insist that it isn’t. I don’t know how long I will be with you.” 

 

“No one knows how long they’ll be here,” said Tessa. “Mortmain could capture and kill me tomorrow. A demon could catch Will off-guard.”

 

“A demon could never catch me off-guard,” muttered Will, but he fell silent when Tessa looked at him with a half-apologetic smile. Issalinde laughed, quietly, from her place on Jem’s chest with Chali and Mela. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Tessa said. “Say you’ll marry me, and we’ll live for as long as we can.” 

 

Jem smiled at her. It was dark enough that she barely saw it, but she knew it was there. 

 

“For as long as we all shall live,” he said, and leaned his head into Will’s chest. “Or, ‘til aught but death part thee and me.” It was the words of the  _ parabatai  _ oath. 

 

“Thank you,” breathed Tessa, leaning into his shoulder. She still wore the pendant, as well as her angel necklace. She’d thought that trying to sleep in it would choke her, but it lay easily against her skin. 

 

She lay there until she knew, for certain, that Jem’s breathing had evened out into sleep. 

 

“I love you, Jem Carstairs,” she said, feeling his chest rise and fall. 

 

Will smiled sleepily. “You aren’t the last dream of my soul,” he said, and squeezed Tessa’s hand. She recognized the quote, from A Tale of Two Cities, and felt a quiet happiness. “You are the dream I couldn’t stop myself from dreaming.” 

 

And when Tessa finally slept, wrapped around Jem’s side with her hand in Will’s, for the first time she didn’t dream of the Dark House. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a very large forum to plan and speak at and no time to write.   
> On the plus side, the forum went really well!   
> ... On the minus side, I lost my phone while there. Which really threw a wrench into things, considering that I need to use my phone to work. So my life's been kind of upside-down as I try to get a temporary replacement and actually make it to work, leaving me with no downtime to focus on writing. I also have a bunch of doctors appointments etc to try and make without a phone (never fun.) 
> 
> Still think about these three often, though. They give me strength. 
> 
> Basically, I still am writing this, even if it's slowly. Life sucks sometimes, fic does not. Thank you all so much for sticking with it, if you're reading this - it means the world to me.


	20. Fly With

 

When they entered the Council chamber, it was decorated with red banners, slashed with dark runes. No one was late, today - the inhabitants of the London Institute filed in, taking their seats at the front. 

 

Benedict sat at the platform, next to the Consul. He was smiling, though he looked pale, his jaw set. Gabriel was beside him, unshaven and worn. He looked up when Gideon entered, and then away as he took a seat with the rest of them. His kite daemon - Tessa had never learned its name, she realized - had its wings hunched, its head drooping. 

 

Tessa looked away, into the audience. Some faces were familiar - the Enclave, as well as Starkweather’s gaunt features. But she didn’t have time to look for long. The Consul cleared his throat, and silence fell. 

 

“Charlotte Branwell,” he said. “Please approach.” 

 

Charlotte, looking smaller than ever, did so. The square-jawed man who had asked Tessa questions after her first run-in with Mortmain - Inquisitor Whitelaw - nodded to her, then held out the same shining sword Brother Enoch had used on Jessamine. Charlotte extended her hands, and didn’t flinch when it was laid across her palms, though Raimond stayed close to her side, trembling slightly. 

 

“Recount to me, in detail, the events of the past weeks,” said the Consul. 

 

Charlotte did so. In a thin, clear voice, she spoke of trying to find Mortmain in the newspaper clippings, in the Reparations archives. Of sending Will, Tessa, and Jem to Yorkshire, and the threat against Will’s family at Mortmain’s old address. Of Jessamine’s betrayal, though Tessa noticed that she didn’t mention Benedict’s role in it. So the Sword  _ could  _ be gotten around, if only slightly.

 

Charlotte spoke of sending Jessamine to the Silent City. Of the battle in the warehouse. Of Nate’s death, of the injuries they all sustained. When she finished, the room was silent. 

 

The Consul nodded. “And have you completed the task set to you, of finding Mortmain?” 

 

“No,” said Charlotte, the word pulled out of her by the Sword. 

 

“And so, do you deny that Benedict Lightwood’s challenge must stand?” 

 

At this, Benedict cleared his throat. “If I may speak?” 

 

Consul Wayland looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “It is not the time for comments.” 

 

“This,” said Benedict, “is directly relevant, Consul.” 

 

A slight sigh. “Permission granted. Release Charlotte Branwell from the Mortal Sword.” 

 

The Inquisitor did so, and Charlotte lifted her chin, a small act of defiance. Tessa had never admired her more. 

 

“It seems clear to me,” said Benedict, “that the information Mrs. Branwell has found is, in itself, useful. We may not know where Mortmain is, but we know  _ who  _ he is, where he comes from, and his motives. That itself can be enough to prepare ourselves. It is my belief that Charlotte has performed admirably.” 

 

The Consul stared at him. “Where are you going with this, Benedict?” 

 

Benedict smiled pleasantly. “I have seen the results of her work. She will be a fine head of the Institute. I withdraw my claim.” 

 

A shocked murmuring swept the room. Consul Wayland held up his hand for silence, and fixed Benedict with a withering stare. His lips were tight, as though he suspected that something was not right, but couldn’t find a way to expose what it might be. 

 

“You withdraw your claim,” he repeated. “Despite the fact that another spy was found under the Institute roof?” 

 

“She dealt with the matter swiftly and without compassion,” was the reply. “Clearly, she is as ruthless as any man.” 

 

At this, Charlotte scowled, but turned her head before the room could see it. Tessa caught a glimpse, and annoyance ran through her at Benedict’s tone. 

 

“And,” said Consul Wayland, a hint of steel in his voice, “you could not have come to this conclusion previously, and avoided wasting all of our time?” 

 

Benedict shrugged in an elegant motion. He did not spread his arms, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. “I thought she needed to be tested. Fortunately for us all, she passed that test.” 

 

After a heavy sigh, the Consul turned away. “Very well,” he said. “All in favor of Charlotte Branwell remaining the head of the Institute, and Benedict Lightwood’s challenge being overturned?” 

 

A chorus of ‘aye’s rang through the room. 

 

“And those in favor of Charlotte Branwell’s removal?” 

 

Silence. A few murmurs, a few titters, but overall, the room was silent. 

 

“Then,” said the Consul, icily, “let us return to the issue at hand without any further digressions. I will speak with you later, Benedict.” When this didn’t receive any reaction save for a nod, he turned to the room. 

 

Tessa felt as if an enormous weight had suddenly vanished. She didn’t feel relieved, really - it was more as if she had been under the stress of this moment for so long that it had become commonplace, and now that the stress was gone, she wasn’t certain of what to do. 

  
Chali, still in his usual form, took to the air, circling once with a quiet sound of happiness. 

 

Charlotte looked overwhelmed. Delighted, yes, but overwhelmed. Will was trying to keep as stoic an expression as he could, but his eyes shone. Jem was smiling widely, and linked his little finger through Tessa’s when no one was looking. 

 

“Very well,” said the Consul. “As was previously suggested, Charlotte and Henry Branwell will be censured for a period of three months. Any official action taken will need to go through myself or the Inquisitor before being put into effect.” He scowled. “It would also be prudent to move the warlock girl to the Silent City. The Institute’s security is  _ clearly  _ not sufficient, if two separate spies could infiltrate it. We are aware that Mortmain wants her, for an as-yet-unknown reason, and letting her fall into his hands is hardly productive.” 

 

Jem’s finger slipped out of hers. 

 

Tessa froze. She had barely adjusted to the idea that Charlotte wouldn’t lose the Institute. Now she was to be sent away - to the prisons in the Silent City? With Jessamine, who had said that the dead there whispered to her during the night. She didn’t dare look around, look to Charlotte or Henry. To do so would be to risk that this was real. What if they only looked back at her, sadly, and let her be taken?

 

She would fight them all, she thought, rather desperately. Use Gabriel’s lessons and fight her way free and live in a shack with Will and Jem. 

 

The Consul was still speaking. “Until such time as the issue with Mortmain is resolved, at which point she will be released and free to live her life as she pleases - ” 

 

Will was already on his feet, his face set and pale, Issalinde bristling at his side. Despite herself, Tessa’s eyes snapped to him. “I object! I object.” He shook his head, seeming to ignore the Consul’s annoyance at being interrupted. “Consul Wayland, you can’t. You can’t, she - she’s -” 

 

_ “Yes?”  _ An undercurrent of danger sharpened his tone. “What is she? If you have an objection, William Herondale, speak it. But I ask that whatever it is, it is worth risking the safety of the Nephilim by allowing this woman to fall into Mortmain’s hands.” 

 

“She’s,” said Will, and Tessa could see that he was thinking fast, a lifetime of lying for him to fall back on. “She’s -” 

 

“She is my betrothed,” said Jem, rising to his feet. He leaned over to put a hand on Will’s arm, the same gesture he always used to soothe him, but his other hand reached for Tessa’s. She held it, feeling herself shake, just a bit. 

 

The room murmured, a swell of sound that rose against the walls. 

 

“That cannot be,” said one of the Enclave members. “Downworlders and Nephilim are forbidden to intermarry, as I am sure you know.” 

 

Jem didn’t lose his temper. He didn’t even seem shaken - a quiet, still center in the middle of a tempest. “Tessa bears no warlock mark. She is not necessarily a Downworlder. In this case, I do believe she would be considered an Ascendant, and her case would be reviewed by the Council for three months.” 

 

“This is ridiculous,” said a representative from another Institute - Tessa wasn’t sure who he was, or from where, but she had never seen him before. “The girl is clearly no Ascendant.” 

 

“You say she’s not a Downworlder,” snapped Will. “You say she’s not an Ascendant. Or a mundane, or a demon, or anything else. If there’s no precedent, you don’t even have to consider it. They could marry tonight.” 

 

A louder babble ran through the room, the volume rising higher and higher. Consul Wayland, eyes glinting, cleared his throat. His wolf daemon barked, a sharp, clean sound that cut through the noise. 

 

“And?” He said. “Even should we consider such a thing, that would be no object to securing the girl in the City for such time until Mortmain is captured.” 

 

“We don’t know where he is,” said Jem, quiet and contained. “We do not know when he will be captured.” He swallowed, and Mela brushed her head into his hand. “I may not have long enough to wait.” 

 

Silence fell. Tessa’s throat tightened again, remembering Jem’s pained coughing the night before. The room, as well, seemed subdued. Moved, even - though she doubted anyone could look at Jem and not feel moved by his quiet strength. 

 

Consul Wayland was not unaffected, either. He sighed, but his face softened slightly.

 

“Very well,” he said. “It will be considered, and rejected. But it shall be considered. Carstairs’ -  _ fianc _ _ é _ _ e - _ ought not to leave the Institute, in the meantime. His choice of wife may leave something to be desired.” 

 

Tessa closed her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the insult. Jem’s hand was tight on hers, the jade pendant heavy around her neck. But on Jem’s other side stood Will, and she could hardly bear to look at him. 

 

He wouldn’t be angry, she knew. But she couldn’t bear to see him heartbroken. Not so soon. Not when he’d just begun to smile. 

 

She didn’t have time to look. When Tessa opened her eyes again, there was a sound of breaking glass. Someone’s daemon gave a loud cry of alarm - Gabriel’s - and another, more human, voice screamed. 

 

In the commotion, Tessa wasn’t sure what she was seeing.

 

The glass dome of the ceiling had broken. Dozens - no, more than that - scores of odd, buglike creatures swarmed down, clicking metal wings. They were grotesquely shaped, wings bent at odd angles, eyeless faces turning with a jerky motion. One flew to a stop directly in front of her, but instead of striking out, merely hovered. 

 

Tessa moved without thinking, snatching off the hat she’d had to wear for the Council meeting and slamming it down over the thing. It writhed, beginning to rip through the fabric - but then a fist slammed down over it, shattering whatever material its body was made of. 

 

Henry glanced at her worriedly. “Are you all right?” The creature was still twitching in the mangled remains of the hat. “I’m sorry about the hat. I’ll make you another.” 

 

“I couldn’t give a damn about the hat,” said Tessa. She looked across the room, worried for Will and Jem and Charlotte. But the creatures had taken to the air again, swirling back up and through the broken glass like beetles washed down a drain. As she watched, they vanished entirely. “I think we have more to worry about.” 

 

* * *

 

Dinner that night was late. 

 

They hadn’t been allowed to leave the Council chamber for another hour. The creatures had harmed no one. They seemed to be scouts, which in itself was unnerving enough. 

 

Charlotte suggested that perhaps it was a good thing - that if the Council saw Mortmain’s creatures, they’d be more motivated to find him. No one argued with her. Tessa doubted anyone wanted to. 

 

Once they’d all assembled in the dining room, silence fell. Gideon, careworn but polite, looked up at Jem and Tessa before he started eating. 

 

“I should congratulate you,” he said. “On your engagement.” 

 

Tessa froze. She hadn’t had time to talk to Jem. She hadn’t had time to talk to Will, either. Suddenly, it all seemed so irreversible, so final. Jem had said it  _ in front of the Council. _ There was no turning back. 

 

Charlotte and Henry hadn’t mentioned it, but surely they too knew that it was - if not a sham, no - something done in the spur of the moment. Something complicated. 

 

She pulled up a smile. It was easy, to think of Jem’s moonbeam grin, of Kasimela chirring as she rolled over onto her back, of violin music and carriage rides of quiet laughter. Loving Jem was never something she would have to feign. As long as she didn’t think of Will, and Jem didn’t think of Will, it would be fine. 

 

“Thank you,” she said, and Chali chirped in a fairly contented way. “I know it must seem, well, rather sudden.” 

 

“I would not have you think,” said Jem, “that it was any less sincere, or that it was not done out of love, for its suddenness. Or for any other reason.” 

 

Gideon blinked at that, but Charlotte fixed Jem with a steady stare before nodding. Tessa’s heart swelled a little, only to thud painfully as Will raised his wineglass, making eye contact with her. 

 

His old expression was back. The sort of look that found the world infinitely amusing, but only on the surface. 

 

Issalinde wasn’t looking at anyone. 

 

“To James and Tess,” he said. “Two better people I will never know.” 

 

At this, Henry nodded, and Charlotte laughed. The tension broke, and Will looked away. Tessa started to reach for his arm, but stopped as Charlotte spoke. 

 

“Actually,” she said, “I too have news. Good news, that is.” When all the faces in the room had turned to her, she half-smiled, nervously. “I - well. Henry and I are going to have a baby.” 

 

Sophie, who had been quietly avoiding attention from anyone, shrieked. Henry’s jaw dropped - apparently this was news to him as well - but then he whooped and picked Charlotte up, whirling her around as he laughed. Charlotte, giggling, stumbled back to the ground as Jem smiled a congratulations and Gideon looked around awkwardly, unsure of how to react. 

 

It was good, Tessa thought, idly stroking Chali’s feathers. Charlotte had always mothered them all so well. Her blood child would have no shortage of aunts and uncles and friends around to see. 

 

The scene was interrupted, though, as Cyril opened the door. He seemed to regret breaking up the laughter, but cleared his throat nonetheless. 

 

“There’s someone here to see you,” he said. “She says it can’t wait. Should I send her away?” 

 

Charlotte, steadier on her feet, tucked a flyaway strand of brown hair back into its pin. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. “No, no. It’s fine, thank you, Cyril. I didn’t hear the bell?” 

 

“No, she is Nephilim. She wants to speak with you urgently. Shall I send her up, then?” 

 

“Yes, please,” she said, and took a seat, thinking. “Aunt Callida, maybe? I can’t think who else.” 

 

There was no reply. In the sudden relative quiet, Bridget’s voice echoed. 

 

_ “T’was an evening fair I took to the air, _

_ And heard a maid making a moan _

_ She said, saw ye my father? Saw ye my mother?  _

_ Or saw ye my brother John?  _

_ Or saw ye the lad that my heart still loves _

_ And his name it is Sweet William?”  _

 

_ I may murder her,  _ thought Tessa, strongly enough to dispel even the good mood at Charlotte’s announcement. Jem’s mouth twisted slightly. 

 

But before anyone could notice or comment, the door creaked open. 

 

A girl of about fifteen stood there, in a worn traveling cloak. Her daemon was a black fox, standing warily at her heels. Even if Tessa hadn’t seen her before, she would have recognized her instantly - by her features, but most of all by her eyes. Will’s eyes. 

 

“Hello,” she said, in a voice that was surprisingly firm. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. I didn't know where else to go." She made eye contact with Charlotte, head held high. "My name is Cecily Herondale, and I want to be trained as a Nephilim.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Will. He really just... cannot catch a break. 
> 
> So here we have it - the end of Clockwork Prince! I know updates have slowed down (a temporary stint of homelessness and a lot of family issues) but please know that I'm still writing, and plan to keep writing this AU through CP2. I appreciate every one of you.


End file.
